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 do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. Dear me, what a difference it has made! No one would ever think that we were sisters.
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