It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. ‘Merely making a useful contact. She gurgled. ‘Well, if that’s what the good Lord wants, then you’ll just have to accept it. ’ ‘That’s right,’ agreed the militiaman, coming forward to stand before her.
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