CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. "No, no, Sir," replied Ireton. \" Lucy grinned, thinking of the dark gamey odors she had smelled emanating from a few of the less hygienic boys in school. A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly. He turned. The city presented a terrible picture of devastation. ‘She’s little more than a schoolgirl, just out. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. ” He frowned. “Well,” she said. Too intent on her search, and convinced besides that she was quite alone, she had been an easy prey. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day.
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