‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. ‘Lord in heaven, could it be so?’ ‘Don’t look at me,’ exploded Hilary. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. They were looking for a guide. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs.
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