She heard them diving after her, and noted their starting eyes as they spied the opened panel. It isn’t illusions—for us. After a long fifteen seconds, she pulled her head back into the seat, looking at his face from the close angle, his nose huge and out of perspective, his eyes like round blue pearls. "What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked. She had become neutral towards him and he had used the lesson to try to advance himself. His voice when he spoke was almost fiercely assertive, but there was an undernote of nervousness. During the wet monsoon the west beach was always littered.
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