"Oh, my word!" Grant Dermitt made his way to the nearest chair and plumped himself down into it. "My word!" he repeated. He stared at Fleetwood lengthily, plainly engaged in an inward struggle with his own senses. "But it's only a resemblance," he said finally. "That's all it could be, just a fantastic coincidence." His gaze entreated Fleetwood. "Isn't it?"
Fleetwood shook his head and settled himself comfortably into the chair opposite. "Shall I tell you the plot of your present story?" he drawled. "Or would the experience be too painful?"
"Oh, dear!" Grant Dermitt said, making a small random gesture with his hand. "There is that, too, isn't there? No one could have known those things you told me on the telephone...."
"No one but me," Fleetwood said. "And who would know them better?"
"I simply don't know what to make of it," Dermitt moaned. "It's too crazy to believe, but...." He looked up at Fleetwood. "When did this happen?"
Fleetwood told him of the qualms, the spells, the small awakenings which had culminated in the final, major one that evening.
"I see," Dermitt said when he had finished. "In a way it begins to make sense. It checks with all the trouble you've been giving me lately."
"I've been giving you trouble!" Fleetwood said self-righteously. "What about the trouble you've been giving me? And not just lately. To date, under your gentle auspices, I have sustained twelve broken noses, seventeen crushed ribs, nine bullet wounds in the shoulders—five right, four left—three skull fractures and a sprained thumb. As for the black eyes, superficial lacerations, burns and random bruises, we'll just pass those by as too numerous and picayune to inventory at this time. However—and I wish to make this abundantly clear—I'm stuffed to the glottis with the whole muggy business. In fact, to be perfectly honest with you, Dermitt, my nerves won't stand any more of it. You can't imagine how it shakes me to face a loaded gun anymore, let alone turn my back on one, as you had me do this evening. If I should ever have to repeat such a performance I wouldn't be a bit surprised if I broke down and had a severe attack of the vapors. You may call me a sissy if you like, but the wear and tear on my nervous system is beginning to tell in my emotional reactions and I don't want any more of it."
"Yes," Dermitt said, momentarily overwhelmed. "I suppose I have been a little rough on you, but I...."