At the Eleventh Hour
my soul, I don't! I don't know what I'm talking about, these days."
"You go to bed," Merritt said with decision. "That's the best place for you at present. Sleeping pretty good, lately?"
"Not ten minutes since—since I got back," Deane answered shortly. "Sometimes I get half off, but that—that's worse than nothing. Every time I drop off I'm back—out there—again, stumbling over rocks, mad with hunger and thirst." He brushed the back of a hand across his forehead. "Or else I'm feeling dry arms around my neck, and something pulling at me the way—oh, the way I dreamt out there!" He shuddered. "Then I stay awake the rest of the night."
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