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" "My God!" cried Trenchard, stunned by the intelligence, "I have killed her. ‘I do not understand you. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. “Thank you,” he said, “for letting me back. " "Don't be angry with me, Sir," cried the widow, sobbing bitterly, "pray don't. So let me assure you now that we are not accusing you of a crime. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. ” Her words were slurred with sleep.
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