” She rested the firing end of the cannon against her own temple. Only she hadn’t. . Even the most sullen and withdrawn were sensitive to the penetrating nastiness of the fog. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. " "I'm not afraid, mother," said the little girl, smelling at the bouquet. She felt the thrill race through her body. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently.
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