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When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. They unloaded Michelle’s sleeping parents who had been propped up in the back seat, necks craned against each other. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. ‘What do you say of these troops?’ ‘You see, we’re militia. A door, it may be remembered, opened from Wild's dwelling into this yard.
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