Am I so forgettable?” He strode down the hall as she ran to catch up with him past lockers someone had painted an abysmal shade of gray blue. Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. ‘Why does this person say you are mad?’ ‘Because I am risking having my head blown off,’ Gerald answered cheerfully. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now.
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