“But there’s something else,” she said in a small voice. I wondered what was coming. “Tell me,” I said.
“I don’t think you’ll understand,” she returned speaking reluctantly. “I don’t understand it myself. But, last night, when I got into bed, something happened to me. I thought I saw a shadowy figure get up from my bed and go out of the room. It—seemed to come from me. It—it looked like me, and when it had gone I felt different.”
“You were dreaming,” I said, patting her arm. “You’ve been through enough to have series of nightmares.”
“But, I feel different,” she repeated. “Oh, Ross, what is happening to me?”
“But, how different?” I turned so that I could look into her troubled eyes. “Don’t get in a panic, kid. What do you mean… different?”
“Oh, lighter, happier—as if I’d been through a mental bath and become clean. Oh, I don’t know how to tell you.”
“Well, if you feel happier, why worry?” I said, and kissed her.
She drew away quickly. “If you’re not going to concentrate, I’ll have to leave you,” she said severely.
“But, I am concentrating,” I said, with my mouth against her hair.
She pulled away, “No, you mustn’t,” she said. “I wish all this hadn’t happened.”