She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. “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. ” She sniffled. A few more minutes, and she was safe. A cool gray light illuminated small portions of the stone floor. It has been only the sort of nonsense which passes lightly enough between half the men and women in London.
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