Chapter Fifty-Six
The train came to a halt, huffed and puffed and moved again, sputtering and squeaking. Denis cast a furtive look at the reading Ferrand. That morning, at breakfast, their nocturnal conversation had come up.
The director had been walking down the tree-lined drive toward the asylum, when he’d heard a scratching at one of the windows. He looked up to see Denis looking down at him.
Denis opened his window and gestured a bit gawkily, a wave that was part salute and part an expression of surprise. “Bad sleeper, eh?” Ferrand said.
“Yes, sir. You look quite awake too.”
“I was looking at the sky, wondering how it would be, living on a far-away planet under a different set of stars.”
“A thing like that cannot be imagined.” After a moment, Denis added, “Your fantasy goes beyon
