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CHAPTER FORTY ONE

The Cleanser? That was what she’d heard anyway. My God. When she'd said it was Divers O'Roarke? How could it not be Divers O’Roarke? No wonder her whole body juddered as he eased her onto the mattress in her bedroom and her breath caught. How had she even come to be in her room? She tried to speak but nothing came.

“Easy, girl. Not just now. I've got you. Do you hear? Bring the lamp, Gil.”

"Sir ... you’re not ..."

Not what? She wanted to know but how could she when everything had black edges, her teeth were making a funny noise and Orwell …? Orwell was the Cleanser. And he'd told Divers. Why? Because he knew what? That Divers might turn a blind eye? Unless? Unless, there was some other more sinister reason Orwell had told him? My God. A lot of good he'd be to her then. As for her noble sacrifice? As for getting Doom Bar Hall if Lyon got free? As for anything? If she could stop juddering she'd know but she couldn't. As to why she was juddering?