Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. ‘I must get a handkerchief. ” He cried traitorously. He was shifting to reach his own weapon, which had fallen in between the pews at the back. ‘You are, I think, a gentleman, no?’ Gerald bowed. Then he stood up and repeated it again. The horse-soldiers wheeled round and cleared a path: the foot closed in upon the cart.
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