We know London, and you are a stranger here. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. ‘I’m a soldier, missie. A sea voyage under sail will be the making of him. I hated the stuff.
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