Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. Hours were spent in preparation for the event. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality. Never before had he seen a man like Enschede nor heard a voice like Ruth's. They are not your children, they never were. He had chosen his time well. “Where were you?” He inquired, rubbing her shoulders. Half an hour's labour, during which he was obliged more than once to pause to regain breath, sufficed to make a hole wide enough to allow a passage for his arm up to the elbow. Seems as she don’t trust soldiers easy.
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