Whenever Ah Cum (whose normal stride was sufficient to keep him at the side of her chair) pointed out something of interest, she had to strain the cords in her neck to focus her glance upon the object. ‘You mean I should give myself a dressingdown? Very well. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. So I come suppliant.
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