You're well enough
there, and in the morning I'll see you safely back." He paused, relit
his pipe. "But right now I'm in the mood for a story. A good one,
mind. And I'm obliging you to tell it to me."
So the man called Jamie began his tale, relating at first only the
barest facts of his capture and imprisonment, leading up to the mass
escape as they were being transferred from one hell-hole to another.
But as the memories and emotions rose up in their fullness before him,
he found that he could no more pass over them quickly than he could
forget them. The wounds were too deep, and too many, for that.
So gradually, without himself realizing the change, he spoke in
greater length and detail of the trials and fears of that time, and of
his desperate struggle not to be broken, or to lose sight of his
dreams and yearnings, no matter how black his world became. Even his
childhood, and his passionate
love for the girl, found their rightful place in his tale, so much so
that his throat often swelled or shut tight, and he was unable for a
time to go on.
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