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Fifty sent home. The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland. His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. He regarded that perennial miracle of pinning with wrathful eyes. “And even then—” The conversation hung for a thoughtful moment. No doubt he knew enough of his world to recognise that he stood little chance against the word of a major of militia.
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