”She rode through the cherry-red curtains into the brilliantly lit arena. “I’d better get upstairs, we’re on the air in two minutes. “Who wrote that?”“Chap called Marlowe. Oh, God, she was getting very close now; he hoped she wasn’t going to start anything.
”The other British athletes were euphoric. “And don’t think that’ll keep you safe. The crowd went mad. ”“I hope we can get English food here,” grumbled Driffield, brandishing an empty glass and looking around, hoping someone would buy him a drink.
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