Chapter 479:

Or what he imagined? Has he also thought about it, with his lips praying, watching the baby's brilliance shining high up?
When they became Whitehall, Frank McLeod gave him a secret glance, and picked him up. Suddenly: It's very simple.
He stumbled, his cold hands on his chest crumbled his life. Joel slowed down when he approached the man. His face is purple: lip foam.
"," he said, then stopped and stared at his opponent's thin face.
Looking up at him from a cloud of smoke, the smoke turned his gray eyes. Joel reached out to help him.
"Don't touch me." growled. The thin blood vessels in his eyes bulged and bleed.
"Cramps?" Joel asked. "Is it cramps?"
"Run, you bastard, run," said to him, his visceral hand grabbed his life. He is now oozing blood in the pores on his face, with red tears. "Run. Don't look back. For Christ's sake, don't look back."
"What is it?"
"Run for your life!"
These words are not requirements but necessary.
run.
Not for gold or glory. Just to live.
Joel looked up and suddenly realized that there was something with a big head on his back and cold breathing on his neck. He stood up and ran.
"-Well, the runners here are not doing well, Jim. After falling down so excitedly, now he also stumbles. I have never seen anything like this before. But he seems to have something that Joel Jones said in the past. , So he must be fine."
When they put him in the ambulance, McLeod was dead and spoiled again the next morning. Joel ran away. Jesus, did he run away? The sun became extremely ferocious on his face, clearing the color from the cheering crowd, faces, and flags. Everything is a piece of noise, exhausting human life.
Joel knew the feeling of coming, with the dislocation of fatigue and over-oxygenation. He runs in his own name, thinks in his own name, sweats, and suffers for himself.
And it’s not bad, just one person. Songs began to fill his head: snippets of hymns, sweet phrases in love songs, dirty rhymes. His ego has nothing to do, his dreams, the fearless spirit takes over everything.
Voight was washed away by the same white rain. That is the enemy, that is something that must be surpassed. , His crucifix swayed in the sun. As long as he doesn't watch, as long as he doesn't watch, he can do it-behind him.
Burgess opened the door of Mercedes and climbed up. Time has been wasted: precious time. He should be on the finish line of the Capitol, ready to welcome the runners home. There is a scene to play where he will pretend to be a gentle and smiling face of democracy. And tomorrow? Not too gentle.
His hands were cold with excitement, and his pinstriped suit smelled of the goatskin jacket he had to wear in the room. However, no one will notice. Even if they did something, did the British mention him so impolitely that he smelled like goatskin?
He hated the lower courtyard, the eternal ice, the distant sound of loss, the yawning hole. But now everything is over. He made his own dedication, showing a thorough and endless worship of the pit. Now it's time to harvest.
As they drove, he thought of his ambitions. At first, secondary things: kittens and cocks. Later, he discovered how absurd they thought such gestures were. But from the beginning he was innocent: he didn't know what to give or how to give it. As the years passed, they began to clarify their requirements, and he learned the etiquette of selling souls in time. His self awards were carefully planned and staged perfectly, even though they left him with no hope of or children. However, it is worth the pain: power is gradually passed on to him. The first place to win three consecutive championships at Oxford University is a wife who surpassed the dream of Prussianism. She had a seat in Parliament and soon the country became a nation.
The burning stump of the thumb was painful, as he often experienced when he was nervous. Faintly, he took a breath.
"-Well, we are now in the final stages of a game, eh, Jim?"
"Oh, yes, this is indeed a revelation, isn't it? He is indeed an outsider in the field; here, he quit the game effortlessly. Of course, he made a selfless gesture of checking with him. Experienced that time After a terrible fall, he was indeed all right, which put him behind."
"Really lost the Jones game, didn't you?"
"I think it's right. I think it lost the game for him."
"Of course, this is a charity match."
"Absolutely. In this case, is it not winning or losing?"
"This is how you play the game."
"Correct."
"Correct."
"Well, when they bypassed the Whitehall corner, they are both in the Capitol now. The crowd is cheering on their boy, but I really think it's a cause of loss-"
"Please mind, he brought something special in Sweden."
"He did it. He did it."
"Maybe he will do it again."
Joel ran away, and the distance between him and Voight began to shrink. He concentrated on the man's back, digging into the shirt, learning the rhythm, looking for weakness.
It slowed down there. This man is not as fast as before. Staggering, this is undoubtedly a sign of fatigue.
He can take him away. With courage, he can accept him.
And children. He forgot about Kindman. Joel glanced at his shoulder without thinking, then looked back.
Back, still maintaining his steady pace as a marathon runner. But there was something else behind Joel: another runner, who was about to keep up. Ghostly and vast.
He avoided his eyes and stared at his stupidity.
He is improving at every step. It was obvious that the man was really exhausted. Joel knew that if he worked hard, he could be sure of him. Forget his followers, whatever they are, don't forget everything except transcendence.
But the scene on his back will not leave his head.
"Don't look back": words. It was too late, he did it. It is best to know who this phantom is. He looked again.
At first he didn't see anything, just Kinderman was jogging. Then, the ghost runner appeared again, he knew what made it and fell.
It is not a runner, whether it is life or death. It is not even human. Smoked body, yawning darkness on his head, pressed on him.
"Don't look back."
Its mouth is open if it is. The breath was so cold that Joel gasped and whirled around him. This is the reason for muttering prayers while running. It has a great influence on him. In any case, death has come.
Joel looked away, unwilling to see so close, trying to ignore the sudden weakness of his knees. Now Voight glanced behind him. The expression on his face was dark and uneasy: somehow knew he belonged to hell, and the shadow behind him was the master.
"..." The word strode away.
Voight heard his name.
"Black bastard," he said loudly.
Joel's pace has been extended. He is within two meters of the runner.
"Look...behind...you," Voight said.
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