‘You wouldn’t know one end of a pistol from the other. I MUST pay off that forty pounds. It was a gracious gesture, she thought, as he trudged to the Beck’s humble doorstep in his stiff blue polyester uniform. ‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding. I’ve wanted you—always. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. You might even tire of me by then, you know.
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