‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. He seemed to avoid meeting Anna’s eyes as much as possible. 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. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black.
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