’ ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her. "Rather in the way. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust.
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