gutenberg. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. ‘You do not say, “I am a gentleman born. As you admitted to me—one has to square one’s self with the world. Not that it would make any difference if he was alive still. ‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all.
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