He did it, he said, “to distract his mind. It was you! It was exactly you, but it was probably the photo they thought it was your mother! I dug it up after combing the Reader’s Guide To Periodical Literature for like, six hours straight. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. " This exclamation had scarcely escaped him, when the discharge of a pistol was heard, and a bullet whizzed past his ears.
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