Life is two things, that’s how I see it; two things mixed and muddled up together. “This wonderful affection of yours for my sister, does it date from your first meeting with her in Paris?” He hesitated. ‘What?’ Roding snapped, coming quickly to tower above the window seat. 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. He died when I was. I have been thinking—I will go to my wife again. Ruth loved him.
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