So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. He was in misery; he was paying for last night's debauch. She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. They'll be back soon enough—or not at all. ‘Go on, Gerald. He leaned forward to better drink her in. Brendon went for the doctor,” Anna answered. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour.
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