“You see, father,” she said, “it isn’t only this affair of the dance. Anyhow, it were me as got you down to the wetnurse. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. “Ohmigod, Katy, you fucking killed her!” A trio of girls sniggered. Shot him, do you hear?” “Good God!” he exclaimed, looking at her curiously.
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