(no subject)

Jun 07, 2006 13:02

Always, after he was in bed, there were voices indefinite, fading, enchanting, just outside his window, and before he fell asleep he would dream one of his favorite waking dreams, the one about becoming a great half-back, or the one about the Japanese invasion, when he was rewarded by being made the youngest general in the world. It was always the becoming he dreamed of, never the being.
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