She could not help herself. ‘All right, Trodger. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live. ’ She halted, her pistol still held firm and straight, both hands gripping it, her expressive features at once determined and uncertain. . Courtlaw is looking after you, Miss Pellissier,” she said. “Annabel,” she said brusquely. Wild will hang me. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she.
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