Habits and tastes are no longer the same. There is no future for me here. ’ He gave the gaping Pottiswick a shove, passing him on to his junior, who was waiting patiently by the kitchen door. ‘What do you think?’ ‘What do I think?’ repeated Captain Roding. ’ Authority had won again, Gerald thought with satisfaction. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out.
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