” John looked at her sympathetically. "You can no longer refuse to tell me the name of this youth's father, Aliva," he said. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. A slow anger burned in the man. Gerald’s chest tightened. . Then they had released her arms and were trying to push her away. A light was visible in the garret, feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and overcast. .
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