It’s a sort of guarantee of confidence. He smothered a laugh. “Jacques is wounded and we are arrested by this imbecile of a sergeant. And it's uncanny. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not. ‘None of them means anything to you at all? How odd.
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