There stood Roland, deep beneath a static, dying civilization, fiercely ready to destroy it--and himself, if need be--for love of Frances. Yet a question nagged him. Who was she--and who was he? His consciousness filtered in slowly. It stirred like roiled water, and the first lucid cycle of cause and effect in associative memory was beginning. There was a kind of awful searching loneliness--but that was broken by the pleasantly soft voice of the woman who asked, “Is he waking?”…
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