"Private's at the back. Come on."
He takes his arm, guides him through the throng. He's blind to every other soul in the room; every sense, every thought in his head is trained on Pietro like the focus of a lens. If anyone speaks to him - and a couple of people do - he's oblivious.
"You live round here?"
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"Private's at the back. Come on."
He takes his arm, guides him through the throng. He's blind to every other soul in the room; every sense, every thought in his head is trained on Pietro like the focus of a lens. If anyone speaks to him - and a couple of people do - he's oblivious.
"You live round here?"