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datatime: 2022-11-26 18:11:27 Author:vmoONFKP

'Is that Mass?'

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

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.

'Ja. Not easy, my friend.'

Sharpe shrugged. 'And who works it? Maybe, I don't know.' He glanced at the battery, its embrasure plugged, and he knew that the French gunners would be celebrating. They deserved it. He doubted if the gun would fire again, not today; the iron barrels had a limited life and the gun had achieved its purpose. 'Come on. Let's see Cox.'

'It'll wait.'

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

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

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.

'What day is it?'

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

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

Sharpe shrugged. 'And who works it? Maybe, I don't know.' He glanced at the battery, its embrasure plugged, and he knew that the French gunners would be celebrating. They deserved it. He doubted if the gun would fire again, not today; the iron barrels had a limited life and the gun had achieved its purpose. 'Come on. Let's see Cox.'

'You want to go?'

'Sunday, sir.'

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

'What day is it?'

'What day is it?'

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

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

'Is that Mass?'

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

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

'What day is it?'

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

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