" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. The carpenter threw himself flat upon the starling to avoid the fury of the wind. "He knows he had to take it. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. .
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