He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. He continued tenderly, almost affectionately. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. Arriving at the chapel, their wonder increased.
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