She washed her face with unwonted elaboration before she went to bed. ’ ‘But where? Where has he gone? Always he goes off, and he says no word to anyone. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. He would have to return to Hong-Kong; and his trail would be picked up the moment he set foot on the Praya. In his condition the boy apparently had been as safe as in the lock-up. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage.
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