Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. ‘What do you think?’ ‘What do I think?’ repeated Captain Roding. At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her. ’ ‘Can’t say as I’m sorry to hear you say that, missie,’ confessed the sergeant, on a relieved note, as he locked the front door of the mansion and pocketed the key. But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go.
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