He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. 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. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated. "I tell 'ee what, master, if you're more fortinate nor I am, and get ashore, give old saltwater your fare.
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