After a while, they slung their tired arms around each other, for comfort and warmth. A triumph of spilled light, from which the eye could make as many patterns as it had patience for. Above them the whole sky had become a parade of stars. They walked on, their collars up against the chill, their feet swollen in their shoes. And oh, to see him struggling to preserve his dignity, talking at them rapidly and almost cheerfully, as if he were a gentleman of great wealth and influence, caught up in some sordid annoying little affair. Within seconds, a whole contingent of officers appeared, with me-David Talbot-in the very midst of them, and they ushered him-the old me-hastily and grimly through the Queens Grill itself and towards the front of the ship. Understand, I'd made no decision as to what to do. I figured they had to bring him down that way. Well, I stepped back out into the hallway behind the Queens Grill Lounge, where I could still see inside through the little glass window in the door. They put him in the bitumen they make a mummy of him for tourists to buy. Being of a practical turn of mind and having hunted for the table for years, Laria did sort of wonder about food resources and distribution. There was probably an explanation for that.
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