The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. Only a few weeks ago there was a bloody battle on the bridge there between the soldiery and the local police. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. She was poor. Apart from everything else, this meeting of ours is a breach of a good rule. Three a week is my allowance, and, if I get short ones, four. But shortly this movement ceased. She fell into another depression, refusing to touch Sebastian or call him husband when he demanded it. ’ ‘Get going, then,’ Trodger told his men.
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