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datatime: 2022-12-02 03:04:58 Author:JlAtNiAW

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

'What day is it?'

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

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

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

'Just a bruise.' Lossow saw the midshipman's head. 'Good God.' He knelt by Charles, felt for a pulse, and opened one of the Captain's eyelids. 'Dead, poor fellow.'

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

'Is that Mass?'

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

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

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

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

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

'Is that Mass?'

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

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

'Just a bruise.' Lossow saw the midshipman's head. 'Good God.' He knelt by Charles, felt for a pulse, and opened one of the Captain's eyelids. 'Dead, poor fellow.'

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

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.

'It'll wait.'

'What day is it?'

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.

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

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

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