Marron looked up from the book. He sighed mournfully. “To read that sort of thing... It’s very disconcerting...”
There was no answer, of course. He was quite alone.
‘It’s strange, what these people think,’ he thought. ‘Strange that the would even presume... But then, I know nothing of that sort of thing, although I do know enough to say that Gateau and I have never done that.’ Marron shook his head. ‘How very strange.’
He turned around to look at the clock on the wall behind him. It read nine-twenty. He was supposed to meat the other Hunters at the tavern below at nine-thirty. Marron got up, and walked over to the bedside, where a bowl of water sat on the bedside table. He rinsed his hands and rubbed a little bit of water on his face. Then he left the room, locking the door behind him.
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