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She passed him silently as she dropped Michelle’s dried corpse into the open clay pit awkwardly, like a discarded doll. ‘What do you say of these troops?’ ‘You see, we’re militia. Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. ‘That would have grieved Jarvis. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound.
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