“Fuck you, Julian Rimbauer. This is also the ragged edge of the world, too. The commissionaire smiled. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. He donned his winter coat. ‘Ah, now I may see what damage Gérard has done to me,’ she muttered, crossing to the table and putting her hand to the sore place at her neck. “Who can tell?” she said.
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