Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. Looking for something, or someone, probably. “Fighting goes with loads of its own baggage, John. The slight smile that played upon Winifred's lips seemed to say that she was not quite so sure. In the periphery of her vision, she saw the door pulled back.
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