The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes. " As if an order had come to her somewhere out of space, the girl glanced sideways at the other young fool. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. "Read the first chapter of Job"; beyond that, nothing.
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