“Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful. Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. We'll turn the tables upon 'em yet. John was acutely focused upon her now, just as she had wanted him to be. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. Mr. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him.
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