She called them back very soon. ‘But Gérard—if you mean the fellow Alderley who was making eyes at Yolande—is not here. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. Here and there, patches of flesh adhered to the bones, and the dank dripping hair hanging about what had once been the face, gave it a ghastly appearance.
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