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. ’ ‘Ah, non?’ Her voice was neutral. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. The violence of the collision nearly threw him backwards, and caused him to swerve as he sprang. “Quite right,” she said. "Here's a cross-bite. ‘Certainly this is true,’ she managed.
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