‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. “How old are you?” “Sixteen. It’s odd, but nothing but cliche seems to meet this case. He brought home a few waverers to talk to them where they had no chance of getting away. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own.
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