Henry listened, fascinated. Looks like Owen decided to put out the trash before moving on. He's only glad he has a place where he can still be himself, and dismayed at how easily the rest of his life has been hijacked. At the base of the right thumbnail, fine as a spill of sand, was a curving line of reddish-gold.
'What's that?' he asked. Now his lips are trembling and the first tear, oh God, there it goes down his unshaven boy's cheek. Never mind Kurtz — we've got to catch Mr Gray. In one hand he held a triangle of newspaper.
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