" "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. ” “I don’t believe it,” he answered hoarsely. Kneebone and his friends would be glad of a little refreshment. Recovering herself, Melusine tucked the weapons out of sight, down into the deep holsters hidden under the petticoat of her riding habit, and went back into the house where Martha awaited her in some impatience. It was a clear, lovely, October morning.
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