‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. The Magdalene XIV. ‘How do you know?’ ‘Exactly,’ pounced Roding bitterly. He sent me flowers. He was standing at the moment close to the hatch, with his ear at the keyhole, and received a severe blow in the face.
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