"You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. She put her clothes back on, 118 lipstick smeared all over her face. “I’ve tried to make words tell it. Never any doubt of it. I’ve got a streak of male. “Why don’t they wait?” he added. I don’t play anything. "Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. No doubt he knew enough of his world to recognise that he stood little chance against the word of a major of militia.
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