The cook tried to ply her with spiced meat and fish soup. There is scarcely one chance in a dozen of saving his life; there would be none at all if he were moved. In the afternoon he probably loafs in his pajamas. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response.
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