" "Look," I said, trying hard to maintain some kind of dignity, "you can't have bought this island just so that you could come here and annoy me. What...are you doing here?" "Well, David, to tell you the truth, we're both here for the same reason," she explained. "I'm a writer and I needed a place where I could get away from distractions to write my new novel." "A rich novelist if you can afford to buy an island," I grumbled. "I do all right," she replied, modestly. "Anyway, I came down here to. Sometimes this would be nothing more than some bushes in the field next to his house. In the winter, we'd hollow out a mound of snow, creating a sort of igloo, where we'd pass the afternoon. Other times, we'd construct elaborate hideaways out of blankets and chairs, usually downstairs at his place. But wherever it was, we'd find a way to get off by ourselves and just while away the time.One day, we were climbing a big tree which had thick limbs branching out nearly sideways. Mike called over to. More

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