All the initial confidence in herself was gone; her courage was merely a shell to hide the lack. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you. ’ ‘Aye, but she don’t reckon to militiamen.
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