And the sergeant, having carried out all Melusine’s instructions as if they had come out of his own head, went up to check on his patient, apparently at last convinced that his prisoner would not attempt to run away. The barmaids had too strongly appealed to his sense of novelty. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters.
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