"But, pardon my intrusion. I do not even know his name. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. She pulled at his tee shirt again, wishing to feel his naked chest upon hers. She was wholly unable to conceal her knowledge of his presence. Insulting cries became frequent and various, but for the most part she could not understand what was said. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. But—it’s one of the things I’ve just been thinking over. It simply doesn’t count. 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.
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