“I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition. ’ She halted, her pistol still held firm and straight, both hands gripping it, her expressive features at once determined and uncertain. ‘I don’t want no gold! Not for serving my mistress. “My hand! This isn’t the place. All my plans have succeeded. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony.
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