‘Yes, a very sad story,’ agreed the major. "Hush!—come hither, and I'll tell you. We’ve deserted the posts in which we found ourselves, cut our duties, exposed ourselves to risks that may destroy any sort of social usefulness in us. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. You wanted to play a lone hand. I've sent for the priest. She refused to sleep in the same room with him one night, kicking him in the shins. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall. Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung round the corner she had seen a strange thing. Probably something he had eaten. ‘Just around it, Hilary, that’s all.
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