The Third Twin
I said.
She shook her head, releasing one of my hands and gesturing to her mouth as if to indicate that oral communication was not possible. She held up her forefinger—wait, it seemed to say—then she scanned her immediate vicinity and apparently finding what she was looking for, led me to a patch of naked ground, where she knelt, picked up a stick and began to inscribe a message in the dirt. It was then, as I watched the letters form, that it hit me. This was no extension of the fugue I had been in, but a real event. Indeed all the impressions associated with that fugue had slipped away while I wasn’t looking. The world had returned to some semblance of its former self, and along with it, my
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