no need for apologies

nobody asks for this kind of call at 3 am in the morning. it was lou gibbens, the night watchman. "sir, i think you better get down here, we have a situation." his voice was shaky. not shaky like scared shaky, but more like katharine hepburn rolling down a steep hill on a bike with square wheels. "my god whats happened now?" lou gibbens met me half way up the stairs, "sir, i tried to stop her, but she..." i cut lou off mid-sentence. "its okay lou, get back to your post, i'll see her now." alura stood just inside the stone arch that held the massive marble walls. "you're looking well conrad." she said with a smirk. "mr. crandle sent me, he offers his apologies." mr. crandle was a burly hungarian fish trader who made his fortune in 1932 by shaping dog biscuits into little bone shapes. "my god, why didn't i think of that."

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