It was past seven when she got back to her hotel. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. ‘Oh, we was always in there, miss,’ admitted Joan, moving closer. 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.
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