Everett’s gaze dropped to the papers in his hand. The tiles lay a foot thick in the road. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes. I’m not a lovesick boy. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam.
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