When the bell rang, she lagged behind as was her habit. The tears flowed faster. ‘Jacques,’ she said, turning to the lad, and holding the habit out, ‘take this for me and leave it in the passage where we have left the lantern. ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. Babies and females have got to keep hold of somebody or go under—anyhow, for the next few generations. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. There was no one stirring in the flats.
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