"You had better let me convey her to Dollis Hill," he said. I must not let you go again. The waterman sheltered his mouth with his hand while he spoke, or his voice would have been carried away by the violence of the blast. The door closed softly upon her. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. ‘Cajolery? This is not your style. She can't last long. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.
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