It was she who had come out from the flat only a few minutes before. He took her hand in his, raising it closer, and gently touched the maltreated skin. ‘This we will leave. Fearful that she had given herself away, she sank back down onto her stool. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him.
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