"Not a moment is to be lost," whispered Jonathan to Trenchard. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. He would never recognize me now. ‘Ain’t my place, I know that. There was a Greyhound bus that she was overdue to ride.
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