. ’ A sudden clatter of booted feet sounded in the hall beyond. Ask your own conscience. You are one of the Immortals. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. No doubt he knew enough of his world to recognise that he stood little chance against the word of a major of militia. ’ ‘Do you indeed?’ rejoined the old lady, twinkling at him, and urging him towards the door.
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