‘I am Major Gerald Alderley of the West Kent Militia. Go, and let him in. Not that it would make any difference if he was alive still. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air. The captain saw it too and nodded at the boy. Concealed among the trees that edged the estate grounds, the watchers paused. ‘Oh, peste.
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