If ever he requires my services, he shall find I'm not ungrateful. Unless—’ Something clicked in his mind and he stared at his friend without seeing him. “I wonder what you could do?” he said. ” Sir John smiled. ‘It is in truth you?’ ‘Of course it is I. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites.
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