” “I can’t seem to get out of chairs without flashing my brassiere to the whole of Creation. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. She had only to get through this, to solace Manning as much as she could, to put such clumsy plasterings on his wounds as were possible, and then, anyhow, she would be free—free to put her fate to the test.
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