A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. And yet he knew clearly and definitely what he purposed to do, what the future would be. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. 277 “I was beginning to think that I would never see you again, Lucy.
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