(no subject)
Clive was sitting in front of the fire, kneees drawn to his chest, chin resting on them, entirely wrapped in the quilt that Sally had given him for christmas.
He'd had another one of the white dreams, this time he was sure he'd heard Gypsy singing and that more than anything made him homesick all over again. He'd gone out in the rain for a little while, just long enough to get damp, but not drenched. And then he'd come inside to settle in front of the fire with a mug of cocoa, which was sitting on the floor beside him at the moment.
He'd had another one of the white dreams, this time he was sure he'd heard Gypsy singing and that more than anything made him homesick all over again. He'd gone out in the rain for a little while, just long enough to get damp, but not drenched. And then he'd come inside to settle in front of the fire with a mug of cocoa, which was sitting on the floor beside him at the moment.