He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. Cathy opened her beauty shop, you know. . . The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. But his eyes were on the Frenchman, and as Valade moved up the other road a little way, the lad shifted alertly, and swiftly closed the distance to the intersection. ’ ‘You’re going?’ asked his friend, and the note of relief was marked.
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