“But I have no troubles. He drew both his pistols, and prepared for a desperate encounter. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. Anna glanced into her sister’s face, and rose to her feet.
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