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datatime: 2022-12-03 20:24:26 Author:qoioWykJ

Lossow's heels clicked in the side aisle; he came from behind a pillar, blinked in the sunlight. 'Where is he?' He disappeared again.

Sharpe turned round, blood flecking his uniform, and his face grim. 'We'll get out. With or without him, we'll get out.'

Lossow's heels clicked in the side aisle; he came from behind a pillar, blinked in the sunlight. 'Where is he?' He disappeared again.

Sharpe turned to him. 'We must persuade Cox to let us out.'

'Sunday, sir.'

The Irishman grinned. 'Wouldn't worry, sir. It doesn't offend me and if it offends Him then He's plenty of opportunity to punish you.'

Sharpe felt ashamed. This was Harper's religion. 'I'm sorry.'

The Irishman grinned. 'Wouldn't worry, sir. It doesn't offend me and if it offends Him then He's plenty of opportunity to punish you.'

Christ, thought Sharpe, Christ and a thousand deaths. Damn the bloody French, damn the bloody gunner, and he might as well have stayed in the warm bed with his arms round the girl. Footsteps sounded in the doorway and he swivelled anxiously, but it was only a squad of bare-headed Portuguese soldiers, muskets slung, who dipped their fingers in the holy water and clattered up the aisle to the priest and his service.

Sharpe turned round, blood flecking his uniform, and his face grim. 'We'll get out. With or without him, we'll get out.'

Lossow stood up, wiped blood from his hands. 'We must get out of here!'

'Sweet Jesus.' Harper stood up, 'Are you all right, sir?'

Harper kicked the fallen beam. 'Perhaps they can rig another telegraph, sir?'

'Sweet Jesus.' Harper stood up, 'Are you all right, sir?'

Lossow stood up, wiped blood from his hands. 'We must get out of here!'

'Sweet Jesus.' Harper stood up, 'Are you all right, sir?'

The Irishman grinned. 'Wouldn't worry, sir. It doesn't offend me and if it offends Him then He's plenty of opportunity to punish you.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Sunday, sir.'

Christ, thought Sharpe, Christ and a thousand deaths. Damn the bloody French, damn the bloody gunner, and he might as well have stayed in the warm bed with his arms round the girl. Footsteps sounded in the doorway and he swivelled anxiously, but it was only a squad of bare-headed Portuguese soldiers, muskets slung, who dipped their fingers in the holy water and clattered up the aisle to the priest and his service.

'It'll wait.'

'Is that Mass?'

'It'll wait.'

'You don't sound hopeful, my friend?'

Harper looked over the ramparts, at the drifting smoke. 'Just four shots. That's good shooting.' There was a reluctant respect in his voice.

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