Then I threw a bucket of dirty water on his face and said, ‘Listen, asshole, let’s get one thing straight. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. But I am not indisposed to gratify you. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. It is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures.
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