This fall saved him, for the horsemen passed over him. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. ‘That’s why I never told Joan Ibstock that you were still with me when I wrote. She licked his neck, which put him over the top. ’ ‘He let them go?’ asked Miss Froxfield incredulously.
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