Had he but known it, his outburst had done him no harm in the major’s eyes. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. She picked up the hand cannon. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. He rose slowly and extended it. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. And the first day, you shall have three morsels of barley bread, without any drink; and the second day, you shall be allowed to drink as much as you can, at three times, of the water that is next to the prisondoor, except running-water, without any bread.
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