” “I suppose so. John looked at his feet bashfully. White assented. ’ ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her. “I wrote it for you. As I hope for mercy, I speak the truth!— let him deny it if he can. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. "To shoot you would be to lose the reward. Wood, "it may be poisoned. "Has any one been here?" he asked. ” “And now—I am to lose you. Thunder rumbled behind the manicured hills.
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