‘But you do not understand, mon ami. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. He kissed her at the door. He had grabbed a tiny remote control and flew the thing around the table, landing it there and turning it off. ‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. “Have you turned him yet?” Michelle whispered hotly, trying not to raise the volume of her voice.
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