scratcigue irritated my eyes. My mind , and noo go to sleep.

        as my mind playing trie? It seemed t I could une. ell, une. Just five lost notes. I opeo be sure. Yes. tely sound ing from the garden.

        ords I    uand. Give me a torn or damaged fragment of text and I    divine     must e after. Or if not, I    at least reduce ties to t likely option. But music is not my language. ere tes e opening of a lullaby? Or t? It o say. ito frame tever it    bound togetime t ruck up its call, t of ay ed to find out ill ted off, lost food, bloion, only t sooner or later t li of une , empty fragment tered to t leaves from a er tree.

        Stubbornly mute es came to me out of no in my    ting time. Or else in bed, driftiinct, meaningless song to me.

        But noe first, its panions dro rapped at t old myself, and prepared to go back to sleep. But torm, tes raised ter.

        t    only to picture t percussion , random squalls er ing doters and into drains. Drip… drip… drip. ater falling from leaves to t, bet, if I    mad or dreaming, came tes. La la la la la.

        I pulled on boots and a coat and    outside into the blaess.

        I could not see my    of my faoto    ts on t a trace of it. A    an instrument, but an atonal, discordant human voice.

        Slo stops I tracked tes. I    dourned into t least I t is ook my    soil    beside ted, but in a patc caug my cl to    es like Aria sou irregular intervals, and eacime I , until topped me and I paused, ing for a    in t a quarter of an    at t time I found myself back at t the house. I had e—or been led—full circle.

        tes arted again.

        Instead of going in, I sat on ted my ap on my back, my neck, my hair.

        It began to seem a fooliso    ter sometantial, and I mao persuade myself, almost, t I    tion of my oion. ts turned in otions. I    about Angelfield and fro, and t made me t, tograpaken of    in a blur of ion to telep day, but it ion; no one    o a deade in t.

        And t me an alarm.

        A presence.    my side.

        I jerked up and looked around.

        total. to see. Everyt oak, o t c.

        Not Miss inter. Not    at time of night.

        then who?

        I felt it before I felt it. touc my side—the here and gone again—

        It , Shadow.

        Again    my ribs, and a meoardily, to announce    my roked    attempted to find a r purred.

        ‘You’re all ,“ I told ’s no nigo be out.

        o my room, licked ooget ’s protey dreams kept well away.

        t day er my regular intervieook myself for a ried in t of early afternoon to retrace taken by dead of nigo t after t I lost my track. My memory of stepping across t    soil of a floinely raked and in order. Still, I made a feook myself on a rouge t mig not    at least, my nigime stroll.

        I sa of t t t I came aaurice, and for one. ion ting rig me e onto turned back to his work.

        I returo transcribing terview.
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