All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. ‘Brung the lantern, I did, and opened the door again in case you was ready. I can’t help it. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword.
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