The sand had stopped drifting. He wished he could share this with Victor Watson but knew he must tell no one. Not ever. At last he understood. The dream about Tommy Blackpool. Where he could re-create his son. Or the essence of his son.
His heart stalled from the joy of it. Now it was perfectly clear. As clear and pure as the desert sky at dawn. He was so happy he began to weep. Now he owned it. It was his and his alone: the merciful magical secret of Harry Bright.