Gyles rapped the glassy entrance to the gallery, shivering in the cold. He rubbed the edge of his sleeve against the glass and peered inside. The night guard rushed out, unlocking the door for him.“Where is he?” he asked as he blew hot hair into the palm of his hands then rubbed them together.“At the far end of the exhibit hall, Mr. Tennison.”“Thank you, I’ll take it from here,” Gyles made his way into the exhibition hall, into the quasi darkness, his footsteps echoing and resonating from the walls and ceilings, resounding eerily through the twists and turns of the hall.…why do you do this to yourself…
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