Four hours later, still in the zinc hut by the road, Miles had forgotten the precise events leading to this confinement. The policeman had been a bit rude, and Sally had been a bit Irish. The dollars under the seat of the taxi had not helped and remained there, still not helping. His tiny girlfriend toe-to-toe with 18 stone of Nigerian law enforcement, fingers in each others' faces, had been a reMilesable sight indeed, but not worth all this. The time when the 300 Nira in Miles's pocket could be of assistance was long passed. Captain Orugo was lost in whatever administration a zinc hut required, humming, whistling and occasionally smiling Miles's way. A leprous wretch handcuffed to a metal table dozed on. Flies circulated. Sally's arms remained folded, her legs crossed. Her gaze stayed fixed
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