In another before death appraisal of a life gone wrong, Mr. Porterfield's hero, Captain Richard Colby (who doesn't know he is about to have had it) is given to apple pie reminiscences of his boyhood in Iowa while the author's flair for description is allowed full rein- ""how the river ice cracked into silver stars where the skates struck, the oak leaves along the bank frozen in ice like brown hands, driftwood fires that burned roses in the snow."" The protagonist, a very disturbed young man, remembers Lorna Llewellyn, his one and only love, a Eurasian met during an assignment in India and the romance that blossomed among fading blue tides and pink sea shells and ended with her terrible death. He also remembers his bold venture as the pre-student journeyman at a logging camp with its accompanying disillusionment with Jack London; his college days and his cynical aptitude for softening up the instructors; and a brief affair with an older English Teacher. And then there was his campaign against the Japs that won him the higher medals. Now he's seeing Dolly Weston, another Eurasian, obviously a poor substitute for Lorna and the book ends, along with its hero, smack in the middle of an Indian uprising. One wishes that Mr. Porterfield could control his characters as well as he does his major scenes. Unfortunately, with the exception of Colby, one does not draw blood from pencil sketches.