his morning run.
The girl pointed an accusing finger through the bars. He came around the hedge, looked right at me, took my shoe, and ran away.
Vincent glanced at her sock. He took it off your foot.
No, I took it off because there was a rock inside. She paused, visibly offended that clarification was required. Then he committed the crime.
A sound escaped Vincent before he could stop it. Not quite a laugh, but close enough that Martin turned his head again.
Vincent had spent the past year watching people measure every sentence around him — wondering whether a joke might offend him, whether a question might expose too much, whether a pause might be mistaken for disloyalty. The girl at the gate had apparently performed no such calculation. She simply wanted her property returned.
Open it, Vincent said.
Martin hesitated. Vincent raised one eyebrow, and the gate clicked
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