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Her tone was icy. “You must tell me the truth, please. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. ‘Troops?’ ‘Go, man,’ urged the major in an undervoice. She had had two days of employment-seeking now. The future Mrs Roding turned bright, laughing eyes on the major. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death.
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