A number of years ago I travelled frequently to Halifax, Nova Scotia, and since the newer hotels were frequently busy I had to stay at the Nova Scotian. One cold January night when I was driving along the street going to the hotel I saw a very young girl standing on one of the corners shivering uncontrolably as she waited to find a customer. My heart but not my courage went out to her, and I passed her by, and frequently thereafter I have felt guilty that I did not even bring her into the car for a few minutes to warm up. Everyone I told this story to said I did the right thing, but it did not always ease my guilt. So you see, even though the rest of the story is fiction, that part was true, and the Jim Ferguson at that point in the book was in fact me. Perhaps the terrible outcome of Jim Freguson's and others actions, was in some way my sub-consious attempt to justify my action.