At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. I tell you, if you do not help me this instant, you will find that your major he will very likely shoot you. There is the key. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume.
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