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’ ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her. —'How so?' says I. Darrell. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. So kind, so good to me always. He had now reached the adjoining house, and, scaling the roof, approached another building, which seemed to be, at least, one story loftier than its neighbours.
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