Just as importantly, he allowed himself to be led as docilely as if on a lead, through one row of tents, and another, until he was ducking through the entrance of her small tent.
It was no bigger and no more grand, than any other junior officer’s tent, but it was private. Its position was too close to the latrines and too far from the mess tent, but the awkward placing offered a little more discretion for the conversation they were going to have.
That word. Discretion. It’s not the right one, I don’t think. Help?
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