Explore "Kent Knowles: Quahaug" by Joseph C. Lincoln on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Not for a very long time. They begin again -- those recollections -- a few minutes later, break off once more, and then return and break off alternately, over and over again.
The first thing I remember, after my whirligig flight over the Paris pavement, is a crowd of faces above me and someone pawing at my collar and holding my wrist. This someone, a man, a stranger, said in French: