Spurling stood her negro attendant, Caliban; a hideous, misshapen, malicious monster, with broad hunched shoulders, a flat nose, and ears like those of a wild beast, a head too large for his body, and a body too long for his legs. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous. But you could have just as easily lost your womb in the Pestilence, and your life. ‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all. You've your own reasons, no doubt, for bringing up her son —perhaps, I ought rather to say your son, Mr. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father.
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