"I believe he is conscious," she answered. She knew his appetite from many a homemade dinner and knew also that he had taken Bitch Vorsack’s comments to heart. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. I suppose I was a little idiotic—I don’t think we either of us mentioned the future, but it was arranged that I should go the next afternoon and have tea with her. And the less “anything” happened the better. ‘It weren’t my wish, miss, I can tell you that.
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