“It was dark in my bedroom in Miss Hatfield’s house because we had lowered all the thick blinds before going to bed, but I was sure it was already morning. Henley’s touch still made my breath catch. I hoped he didn’t notice. He would make some joke about it. I knew Henley well—his thoughts, his words, his entire mind, really—but his touch was foreign. In the dark, if I tried really hard, I could almost make myself believe this was the same Henley I had known all those years ago in 1904. I could ...clearly imagine his blue eyes and the way his dark hair flopped into them at times. In the dark, it was real. I could make it real with my imagination. “Henley . . .” “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” he asked. I assured him he hadn’t. “Then was it that nightmare again?” He was referring to the dream I’d had once before of Miss Hatfield dying. I turned to face him in the dark and ran my fingers through his hair. “I wish I could stop it,” he said. I knew he was talking of my nightmares.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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