Tom, my other rescuer (no place for him, though, in the Warley Weekly News). He moved and stood beside me. Smiled, leant over, and put his hand on mine. I felt it – did I? I did, though half asleep and woozy from the medicine they'd given me. It wasn't much of a touch, hardly ‘substantial’, more like the flimsiest, frailest piece of cloth falling on you; a feeling of graininess, texture. Not much, but something, surely, more than mere empty air.
