He had an objective now. At length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last. ‘You dare to come to me? What do you wish of me? Why have you come? I do not want you!’ She swept round on Gerald abruptly and he braced for the onslaught. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. Bodies were piled high in the streets, Sebastian went on rounds and would come back late at night, reporting horrors and robberies, death that came within hours, not days.
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