Right now we’re heading for the south pole, where it’s summer. He curses, and Gatlin glances back at the others. By this time, he was seriously worried. “Don’t get up yet, girl.
” These were the first words I ever heard Harry Poole speak—though I didn’t know the man at the time—words that cut through my hangover like a drill. He protected me. It was a spartan, cloistered life, not much different to being in a monastery or a prison, but for that reason the slightest variation in routine was to be cherished. As far as it is concerned, we no longer exist.
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