They went to the gate and stopped there, gabbed with their men, and didn’t even dismount. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. ‘Eh bien, pig. “Martin Chen!” Michelle shouted his name in an outburst, like an invocation. He looked at it with uplifted eyebrows, but made no remark. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain.
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