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“I’m sorry, I was overtaken by events.”
And I slip into a dazed and exhausted sleep, dreaming of a four-year-old gray-eyed boy in a dark, scary, miserable place.
The ending of this chapter reads exactly like when i dont know how to end a first draft of something, so I just write any bullshit and fix it up in revisions. Except its a published novel I paid real money for.
“Clear my schedule this morning, but get Bill to call me. I’ll be in at two. I need to talk to Marco this afternoon, that will need at least half an hour…Schedule Barney and his team in after Marco or maybe tomorrow, and find time for me to see Claude every day this week…Tell him to wait…Oh…No, I don’t want publicity for Darfur…Tell Sam to deal with it…No…Which event?…That’s next Saturday?…Hold on.”

