And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. I won't dig their graves with my nails. 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. Sometimes I think I’ll miss them and I start to cry, but I’m ready to have a life of my own. It’s Italian.
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