230 Rhea sprang, teeth flashing. Like stealing. ‘What do you say of these troops?’ ‘You see, we’re militia. . ’ He slid slowly down and collapsed to the stone floor, fainting dead away. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool.
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