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Spurlock mused over the previous night. These galleries were separated in the middle by iron grates. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. . Buck up. . The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. “And now tell me, please, how you eloped from Morningside Park.
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