Several months of correspondence had grown them closer and led Margaret to invite Stan to join her in the city. Her ill-fallen friend was on the mends but the recovery slow — a timely return not expected. The letters between them had grown in length, so much so they began to require double the postage. Her letters were eloquent and meticulously written, his strewn with error and stream-of-conscious. On the day of his arrival, she stood with patient calm and stillness, waiting. Both were nervous; she overjoyed, he overwhelmed. Upon setting foot on the platform he spotted her; she nearly obscured, shrouded and wrapped by steam from the departing engines. Notwithstanding, the yellow of her dress cut through it all, catching his eye immediately. He moved clumsily through the chaotic crowd as the steam and smoke dissipated in concert with the departing crowds. Leaving just the two, smiling, in silence. They stood there for such a time that the next train arrived, to which they embarrassed to make up for the lost time and to avoid separation in the ebb and flow of the passengers on the platform.