A Madness Of Angels: Or The Resurrection Of Matthew Swift - Plot & Excerpts
Thirty pence later the womans voice was back. Mr Swift? Still here. Im transferring you now. Thank you. A beep. A long silence. A sigh of distant breath. I found I couldnt speak. After ten trips of my shuddering heart he said, in that familiar, rich voice, Matthew? Mr Bakker, sir, I stumbled, tongue tangling over the automatic, familiar words, feeling like a fifteen-year-old boy again, about to be prescribed tranquillisers. Matthew! My God! Nothing but surprise; no anger, fear, just marvelling wonder, tinged with an odd flavour of almost laughter perhaps delight. I heard you were there was a funeral! Yes. I wasnt. Clearly, clearly. My God. God. But where are you? I must see you at once! Panic was beginning to make my skin burn; whatever Id been expecting, this was not it. I dont think that would be a good idea, I said. Matthew! Are you all right? Fine. I must see you! You must tell me everything they said you were dead! They were pretty much right. Whats happened to you?
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