Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. ’ She gestured at his hand, on which Roding’s makeshift bandage had been replaced by a more efficient one. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. ” “But how?” “I poured him out some port wine, and I said—let me see—oh, ‘You are going to be a grandfather!’” “Yes.
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