‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor. Two shots were fired at him by Jonathan; one of which passed through his hat, and the other through the fleshy part of his arm; but he made good his retreat. ’ ‘Aye, miss,’ Kimble agreed, taking the garments, ‘but where will I find you?’ ‘I do not know. You may have something to conceal, you may not.
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