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By Anne Holt

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Without pre-empting events, I would still like to say at this point that the first thing I thought when I heard that Cato Hammer was dead a few hours later was that he hadn’t been such a terrible person after all, in spite of everything. ‘Don’t get so agitated,’ he said to the raging fury. ‘You create distance between people, Kari Thue. Muslims are not the same as Islamists. The world is not like that. You divide us up into —’ ‘Idiot,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve never said or implied anything of the kind.

He was foul-mouthed. A thief, without a shadow of doubt, and I was convinced that he was already well on the way into a destructive cycle of substance abuse. A petty criminal, a little shit who hadn’t yet learned to hide his expression. ‘Are you psychic, or something? How do you know —’ ‘Yes, I am psychic. Now just shut up. ’ He moved his head a fraction. I interpreted this as a no. ’ Geir Rugholmen brought with him a cold draught from outside. Only now did I realize that the large lobby was gradually emptying.

Not very much, but enough to cause pain in one of my shoulders. I was sitting on the left in the carriage, and was the only person in a wheelchair on the entire train. A wall of dirty white was pressing against the window on my side. It struck me that the enormous quantities of snow had saved us; without them the train would have jack-knifed. The cold was debilitating. I had taken off my sweater back in Hønefoss. Now I was sitting here in a thin T-shirt, clutching a baby to my chest as I realized it was snowing into the carriage.

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