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This fall saved him, for the horsemen passed over him. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. CHAPTER XXVII His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, to confound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which would rob her coherent thought. The tiles lay a foot thick in the road. .
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