For hours he seemed to have pleasant dreams of open skies and airplanes, but then the dreams would disintegrate into fleshy charnel house nightmares where he could hear her calling to him through a fog. Jonathan, however, paid no sort of attention to this demonstration of hatred. His only warning was a gleam of silver in the faint spill of light from the house above. "Now, Jack," cried Thames, warmly grasping Sheppard's hand, "you are my friend again. Ah, no, I have it wrong.
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