By Gerald Seymour
Hardback, ex-library, with ordinary stamps and markings, in sturdy all around . Binding cocked.
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Additional info for The Waiting Time
He turned on his heel and the Captain, no bloody spine, followed him out into the corridor. He called the sergeant and told him to secure the cell, no access, no visitors, without his express permission. Out again into the night.. Maybe he should have belted her . . He led. No small-talk between them, Captain Christie stayed a pace behind. They were on a gravel path, and Walsh came past them. He was carrying the big cardboard box that held his leaving present, flanked by his chums from Irish postings.
And Irish would be screaming when he started up about her having to look after the bloody dog.. She headed for Perry. The Colonel and a civil servant flanked the German. The German had his back to them. Hands groped to snatch the glasses off her tray. She was only a corporal so she wasn’t thanked, and they wouldn’t need her again. Major Walsh’s ‘happy hour’ would be finished in ten minutes, and his bar tab closed, be space then. He saw the two minders take their drinks, and then the Colonel. Only one drink on the tray, the last Glenlivet, ice and lemon.
He had challenged them all, the Brigadier from London, the civil servants, the officers holding the last free drinks of Major Walsh’s ‘happy hour’, and the bar steward. The Colonel, deliberately, had picked the tray, the broken glass, the cubes of ice, the two garish slices of lemon from the carpet, and carried them towards Johnson. There was only a small stain left behind on the burgundy and white patterns of the carpet, like the aftermath of a street stabbing, so little to say what had happened.
The Waiting Time by Gerald Seymour