No umbrella either, the sky was delightfully overcast. She said as much to him. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. Usually his charges bored him with their interrogative chatter, for he knew that his information more often than not went into one ear and out of the other. 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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