After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. An admirable alternative presented itself and she sighed, spreading her hands. Now, do what you please. She didn’t choose her man. "This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs.
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