She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman of talent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmas cards, or teaching at a kindergarten. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. Great sport, eh? To haul them back from the ragged edge. She got out of bed, her eyes still half-closed, and stood slack jawed. Something like a snarl crossed his face, and ignoring the pistol, he moved forward, seizing her shoulders.
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