“Who was it?”
“A friend from Denmark,” I said. “It’s not important.”
Maratse moved on.
“What did you do next?”
I told him about the man with the gun, about how I disarmed him – he just handed me the rifle. Maratse grunted as if he expected the man would do that, and then he prompted me to keep going, as I stalled at that point.
But the story wasn’t over.
“Tia…
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