The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. Where the devil have you hidden all those weapons? Don’t tell me you’ve got ’em with you. I won't give him a chance. If we were set upon I could not defend you. “Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything.
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