He felt hands tugging at him, mysterious creatures with long fingers and sharp nails that pulled at his flesh. Old saltwater was right. “Hello, John. ‘And me?’ ‘Oh, you’re mad because you wish to blow off my head. Only you seem to me since the time when I knew you in Paris to have changed—to have changed in some subtle manner which I find at times utterly bewildering. His quiet, kindly smile implied his serene disbelief in any confessible thing.
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