There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. ‘You usually do,’ he said lightly. Go, and let him in. This is my last week at the ‘Unusual,’ you know. They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight.
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