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Updated: May 11, 2025
"You can't see me, or touch me, or even really hear me, but I'm not something you just imagined. I'm just as real as ... as Smokeball, there. Only I'm a different kind of reality. Watch." The voice stopped, and something that had seemed to be close to him left him.
Then, still looking up and to the side, Smokeball trotted over and jumped onto his lap, but even as he stroked her, she was looking at an invisible something beside him. At the same time, he had a warm and pleasant feeling, as of a happy and affectionate presence near him. "No," he said, slowly and judicially. "That's not just my imagination. But who or what are you?"
Besides himself and the kitten, Smokeball, there was one other at "Greyrock" who was aware, if only faintly, of Dearest's presence. That was old Sergeant Williamson, the Colonel's Negro servant, a retired first sergeant from the regiment he had last commanded.
The kitten, whose name was Smokeball, was a friend of his; soon she would tire of her game and jump up beside him to be petted. Then suddenly, he seemed to hear a girl's voice beside him: "Oh, what a darling little cat! What's its name?" "Smokeball," he said, without thinking. "She's about the color of a shrapnel-burst...." Then he stopped short, looking about.
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