CHAPTER 21
One night, he dreamed of puppies. Newborn hound puppies. Great piles of them, twenty or thirty, with their eyes shut, mewling for their mothers’ milk.
He woke up and cast his mind out to listen again, in the night. It had been days since he’d last had his morning drink and it was easier to think, though his mind was as empty as ever of any history.
He’d frowned once at the woman, and she’d asked if he felt alright. Then he remembered the girl’s warning about not letting anyone know he was avoiding the drink. From then on he was careful to maintain the same smooth demeanor as before.
It was harder now because he found so much to interest him in his surroundings. Not her. All her conversation was about how sorry she was for him, how she wanted to help him get better. He could
