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Adam. Ronan missed him like a lung.
Ronan hadn’t known anything about who Adam was then and, if possible, he’d known even less about who he himself was, but as they drove away from the boy with the bicycle, this was how it had begun: Ronan leaning back against his seat and closing his eyes and sending up a simple, inexplicable, desperate prayer to God: Please.
It was possible that no two students at Aglionby had ever come away with such a thorough understanding of Latin (or, possibly, of each other).
The adults in the room were vastly outnumbered.
He had a relentlessly oval-shaped head, she thought, like it had been drawn by someone who’d not seen a real human head for a while.

