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He took note of it and didn’t know what the man was glaring at him about, but he didn’t care. Marathe was ready to die a violent death at any time, which gave him free choice of emotions. M Steeply from the US B.S.S. had verified that the US neither understood nor appreciated this; it was alien to them. The veil gave Marathe the freedom to calmly return the addict’s stare without him noticing, which amused Marathe. Marathe was sick to spitting from the smoke of the smoky room. As a child and with legs, he had stooped once and a rotting tree trunk in the woods on Lac des Deux

Montagnes, the places of his four-limbed childhood before Le CuZte du Prochain Train. 304 The pallor of the creatures that had writhed and hunched under the damp log was the pallor of this addicted man with a square of facial hair between his lower lip and chin, and beyond a safety pin had stuck through the upper flesh of one ear, and the needle, it flashed and flashed not in rapid succession as it vibrated with the rocking of the bobbing boot. Marathe looked at him calmly through the veil and recited the prepared sentences in her head. More idiomatic was that the needle bobbed in unison with the bob of the boot, which was dull black and had an angular heel, the motorcycle boots of people who don’t own a motorcycle but wear the boots of motorcycle owners. The addicted man stood up slowly, came up to Marathe with the smoking ashtray, and tried to kneel. His Levi # 501 blue jeans were strangely torn in places, showing torn white threads

the pallor of the knees; the holes were the size and circumferential damage of holes Marathe realized had been caused by high-caliber shotgun volleys. Marathe memorized all the details of all things for his two reports. The addicted man knelt in front of him, leaned closer and tried to remove something he believed on his lip. Up close, the expression that had looked like a twinkle through the veil was corrected: in reality, the man’s eyes had the empty intensity of those who have died violently. The man whispered, “Are you real?” Marathe studied the facial square through the veil. “Are you real? The man whispered again. Slowly he came closer and closer all the time. “You are real, I can see that, aren’t you,” the man whispered. He quickly looked around the noisy room behind him before coming closer again.

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