A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. “That’s what we narcs have to do. Only I just want him. Ramage. Sheppard. "Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?" inquired Mendez. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. Hopefully.
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