" Something reached down into his heart and twisted it. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone. She was crushed with a sense of her own terrible impotency. Gosse sagged under the impact, knocking over the card table, and falling to sit, half stunned, the discharged pistol flying from his slackened grasp. Most of the time, he was hunting and he returned at night. “Agreed,” he said, “certainly,” and drew a checkbook toward him.
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