Not far from him was a knot of lads drinking, swearing, and playing at dice as eagerly and as skilfully as any of the older hands. ‘I ain’t done nothing wrong, I swear it. So she built a shrine. She pulled him down by his lapels and arched her head readily towards his neck. Take it, I tell you. She accomplished it with the aid of the young fellow’s hand, and stepped down into the road, glancing up at the house as she did so. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it.
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