Mal set an unforgiving pace. To keep contact, he and the twins would whistle to each other from opposite ends of the column, making sure no one had drifted too far behind. Occasionally, he’d fall back to check on everyone. “I can tell what you’re up to,” I said once when he returned to the head of the line. “What’s that?” “You pop back there when someone’s lagging, start up a conversation. You ask David about the properties of phosphor or Nadia about her freckles—” “I have never asked Nadia about her freckles.” “Or something. Then gradually you start to pick up the pace so that they’re walking
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