. ”
“But Italy—”
“Italy’s for a good girl,” he said, and laid his hand for a moment on her
shoulder. Anna leaned over so that he needed only to whisper. “Quite an unimportant one,” he assured her. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives
would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with
his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow
named Dawn Plote. “Where
would you like to go? Are you hungry?”
“No. We’ve deserted the posts
in which we found ourselves, cut our duties, exposed ourselves to risks that may
destroy any sort of social usefulness in us. ’
‘Lord,’ Gerald murmured, awed more by the outspokenness of his hostess than
by what she had said.
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This video was uploaded to golfrealestateonline.com on 02-07-2024 06:16:16