I could make away with him at once, as you are about to make away with your nephew, Sir Rowland,—but that wouldn't serve my turn. She pulled, he rose to his feet. He had bled everywhere, but she had struck when the opportunity was ripe. Her husband was drinking in the tavern with the other guests. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. The delay was only momentary. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair.
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