Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order. What is it that you wish from me? You would like to arrest me for spying? Very well, arrest me. The room behind was another small antechamber, presumably linking the back rooms. If it is that I am in the least French, and that you do not like it—’ ‘I don’t like it,’ snapped the old man. “Shit happens, John.
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