"My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. "Gone," replied the wounded man. Ennison listened, and he forgot where he was. Crouching down, Gerald waited, hands at the ready. He is big and powerful; one of those drinkers who show it but little outwardly. ” Michelle started to sob.
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