“I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. It was as much as I could do to prevent him flying out of the house there and then and coming after you. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. His advice was mostly practical.
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