'—'What is it, Mint?' asked all three. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. What you said wanted saying. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. ’ ‘Grossly unfair, too. Strange, I could never learn her history.
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