“Yes. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. That is what my mother used to call me. “The rarefied air? I thought you had a better head. It is customary even where an agreement is drawn.
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