” There was never any shortage of bad men to eat, especially with pestilence and superstition to cover their tracks. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Probably she was married years ago and is now merely on the way to her husband's house. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. He had got here at speed by that means. And you’re as clean as fire. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured.
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