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“But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel. ” “One has theories,” said Ann Veronica, radiantly. And that would spoil it. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood. ‘What do you say of these troops?’ ‘You see, we’re militia. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. She was wan and white. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets.
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