A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. Here he was hotly pursued. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. It's kind of comforting to have you there. ’ ‘You surprise me.
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