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. What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out. Wood. What he intended to do with it is of little consequence now. Too close, he reasoned, for safety. At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs.
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