Lulled in countless chambers of the brain, our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain; awake but one, and in, what myriads rise! -Alexander Pope
Mr. Crawford escorts me back to the hotel on foot. Stephen sulks on the phone behind us. Both men wait in the lobby while I grab my belongings and check out.
Exiting the hotel, I notice Drake across the street, leaning against a blue metallic-colored truck that's parallel parked. He meets us halfway across the street and retrieves my luggage from Mr. Crawford. Taking two steps to his one, I almost jog to keep up with his long stride.
Drake places my belongings in the truck's bed, then opens the door. "I didn't expect to have a passenger." He grabs a black leather medical bag and a smock, tossing them into the back.
"Where's everyone sitti
