We're two good-looking fellows, ain't we?" "Very good-looking," replied Rachel. The horse-soldiers wheeled round and cleared a path: the foot closed in upon the cart. "I guess who you mean," rejoined Shotbolt. That would not help her. That blow made me a thief. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing.
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