He turned a white face back towards us. Bartolomé's face didn't pale, but he looked back at Gregory. I was pinned by the two men. “Hello?” “Valerie?” Pause.
I didn't care. I thought about everything he'd said, and I couldn't argue with it, and I couldn't pretend it didn't make sense. His father had been correct. And I walked into a shop, some dumb shop, just some dumbkind of tourist goods shop.
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