Brown or Jones, I dare say. There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. I want to boast myself. Michelle looked at Lucy's feet, still in the ugly brown loafers she had worn since last year. It hardly served his interests. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. I will go with you.
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