Her aunt went off at a tangent. ‘Well,’ began Captain Roding, looking at Melusine, ‘you know those nuns of yours took up Valade—I mean, Gosse—and put him to bed to mend his wound, and I posted a guard outside his room so he couldn’t escape, for Gerald told you all that. But I don’t care; I haven’t a spark of shame. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient.
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