“As well as ever,” his mother said, a bit resentfully. “She has been out of the hospital for weeks.”
“That’s ... good,” said Potter.
A day or two later he asked about his ’plane. “What’s become of it?” he wanted to know.
“It’s up on the shore where you—fell,” his mother said.
“The shore?” he repeated. “The shore?... What shore?”
“About ten miles up on Baltimore Bay,” she said.
He thought about that for minutes, and it was apparent he was not satisfied. “It was on an island,” he said. “A little island ... not on Baltimore Bay.... Just back of the Flats.”
“No, son, it was on the mainland. You—you don’t remember.”
He shook his head uneasily, and his eyes were puzzled. “There was an island,” he said, and then let the subject drop as if he were too weary to go on with it.
“Is the war still going on?” he asked, one day.