My arm's nearly well again. "A bad girl?" She put the question as she would have put any question—leveleyed and level-toned. She was very pretty. Her eyes flashed and she withdrew the dagger, pulling away from him. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did. Indignation carried her through that night, that men and the world could so entreat her. I asked him why, and he hadn’t a reason. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door.
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