207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. Beside me on Anna’s table was a pistol. "I'll have my cot in here," said Spurlock to Ruth, "where this table is. She might even forgive him. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew. Of course I knew all about him years ago, and he is exactly like everybody’s description of him.
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