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datatime: 2022-12-08 14:37:40 Author:FVDdOaLx

'Yes, sir.'

'Yes.' Sharpe's shoulder hurt like the devil. 'Where's the boy?'

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.'

'Is that Mass?'

'It'll wait.'

'Yes, sir.'

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

The Sergeant pointed to the head. 'Rest of him's over the wall, sir. Poor wee thing.'

'Ja. Not easy, my friend.'

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

Cox had not been at his headquarters; he was on the ramparts, they were told. So the three had hurried there and Cox had gone. Now he was said to be visiting the magazine, so they waited, and the light shaped the dust into silver bars and the muffled responses got lost somewhere in the high stone ceiling, and still Cox had not arrived. Sharpe slammed his scabbard on the floor, hurting his shoulder, so he cursed again.

'Amen to that, sir.' Harper had infinitely more patience.

Light, like carved silver, slashed the cathedral's gloom, slanted across the crouching grey pillars, splintered o(T brass and paint, drowned the votive candles that burned before the statues, inched its way over the broad, worn flagstones as the sun moved higher, and Sharpe waited. A priest, lost in the depths of the choir, mumbled beyond the window light, and Sharpe saw Harper cross himself.

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

'Yes.' Sharpe's shoulder hurt like the devil. 'Where's the boy?'

'Ja. Not easy, my friend.'

'Ja. Not easy, my friend.'

'Yes.' Sharpe's shoulder hurt like the devil. 'Where's the boy?'

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.'

Cox had not been at his headquarters; he was on the ramparts, they were told. So the three had hurried there and Cox had gone. Now he was said to be visiting the magazine, so they waited, and the light shaped the dust into silver bars and the muffled responses got lost somewhere in the high stone ceiling, and still Cox had not arrived. Sharpe slammed his scabbard on the floor, hurting his shoulder, so he cursed again.

'Yes.' Sharpe's shoulder hurt like the devil. 'Where's the boy?'

'Yes.' Sharpe's shoulder hurt like the devil. 'Where's the boy?'

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

'It'll wait.'

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

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