As soon as they had got out, the vehicle was drawn up at the back of a tree near the cage. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. Ramage leaned over the gate at Ann Veronica’s side, and for a moment there was silence. The Master of the Mint. A deadlock. Every moment. He was always in a state of semi-intoxication, but he was always gentle with me. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. The boy would naturally attract the women, if the women were at all romantic.
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