"So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter. "By George!" he exclaimed. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges. ’ ‘You saw? Where were you? How did you see?’ ‘Your heroic milice are not as clever as they thought. Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off. What does she look like?’ ‘Black hair. Mind you don't stir till supper's over.
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