“Will you come round to the hospital?” he asked. Emile looked at her, then down, and clearly caught the bright gleam on the floor. “I suppose a girl MUST be underpaid and sweated,” said Ann Veronica. Tea in the laboratory was a sort of suffragette reception. She bounced onto her bottom. “Martin Chen!” Michelle shouted his name in an outburst, like an invocation. He shook his head. His father was one of my old customers, and I am happy to find his son treading in his steps. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word.
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