notes2

“You’ve research that’s needed at home.” “Oh, screw that. It’s

meaningless there if people are still dying here.” “I think they’re
interested in what you’ve uncovered.” Lisbeth stopped and swung around
to face Sarah. “They’re interested . . . Gottverdammte, Father . . .” She
spun on her heel and stomped toward one of the big marquees, before
storming in. There were raised voices, which quickly settled.
• “What did you say to her?” the Captain demanded. “Just that we’re
here to escort them back . . . and why—” The Captain made a face.
Sarah fizzed in irritation. She saw him beginning to struggle, to lose
trust in her, to fail as a spy. Evening was approaching, and he was in
trouble. He was breathing heavily, his skin already pale and the
whites of his eyes growing sallow. This was a play she had seen over
and over, but she had stopped questioning the script. She knew the
final act but never waited to see it, believing that if she ignored it, it
would go away. Norris knew, Clementine knew, and not letting them
talk about it hadn’t stopped it happening. She took a deep breath.
“I’m not sure you should talk to anyone at the moment,” she
managed quietly. “Go . . . do whatever you need to do.”