human
My God! he breathed deeply.
gpt
Kent, I've been sitting down there on my porch a long time, and a good many strange things have come to me, but never anything like this. Oh, if it wasn't for this accursed flesh of mine!
human
Old? I'm not old! I was only twenty-eight when that happened up there, and I'm forty-eight now. That isn't old. It's what is in me that's grown old. I'll do it, Kent! I'll do it, if I hang for it!
gpt
God bless you! he cried huskily.
human
God bless you, Fingers! Look! Look at that! He pulled Fingers to the little window, and together they looked out upon the river, shimmering gloriously under a sun-filled sky of blue.
gpt
Two thousand miles of it, he breathed.
human
Two thousand miles of it, running straight through the heart of that world we both have known! No, you're not old, Fingers. The things you used to know are calling you again, as they are calling me, for somewhere off there are the ghosts of Lost City, ghosts--and realities!
gpt
Ghosts--and hopes,
human
Hopes make life, softly whispered Kent, as if to himself. And then, without turning from the window, his hand found Fingers' and clasped it tight.
gpt
It may be that mine, like yours, will never come true. But they're fine to think about, Fingers. Funny, isn't it, that their names should be so strangely alike--Mary and Marette? I say, Fingers--