The snow was getting heavier by the minute, flakes as large as a child's fist. It fell on the top of the ever-deepening layer already on the ground. Houses, trees and all the other objects you could see stood still under its thick cover. It was the most enchanting scene that I had ever seen.

Miae and I were looking down on the courtyard from the window of our hotel room on the first floor. From the radio floated the mournful, sweet melody of Negro spirituals sung by Maria Anderson, making us feel sad and sweet too. In three hours’ time we would be catching the train back to Seoul.

Onyang was a famous spa town. Newly-married couples came here for their honeymoon. But for us it had been a few days of farewell treat. We had been the closest of friends since high school days in the provincial town, Chŏngju. We were the famous duo who sang duets at school concerts, she alto and I soprano; we were the dynamic chieftains leading our classmates in all aspects of school life. We frequented each other's houses, treated like members of each others’ families. Our friends and teachers used to tease us calling us ‘The pair.’ Our ideals were of the loftiest, and to achieve them we worked hard with some proud results. On leaving high school we entered the universities of our choice through competition rates of twenty to one or more, the only two girls from this provincial town to get into the first-rate universities of Seoul. Miae went to the Law College of the Seoul National University and I to the College of Politics and Law of Y University. Surrounded by congratu lations and encouragement from friends, teachers and families, we subconsciously had believed that our future paths would be as sunny and smooth as they had always been. There seemed no reason to believe it to be otherwise as long as we kept our heads clear.

Even though we now went to different colleges at opposite ends of the city, we scarcely passed a day without seeing each other.