” “Dear me,” Anna laughed, “how unfortunate! What ought I to do? Should I be forgiven, do you think, if I were to go and hold that skein of wool for the old lady in the yellow cap?” “Don’t speak of her irreverently,” Brendon said, in an awed whisper. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. “I saw him stagger and sink down, and the pistol was smoking still in my hand.
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