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. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. You are afraid of kisses. Ennison stood by her side. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead.
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