‘What?’ Roding snapped, coming quickly to tower above the window seat. Gosse were you born, and Gosse will you remain to your death. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. We went to the Embassy.
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