’ She halted, her pistol still held firm and straight, both hands gripping it, her expressive features at once determined and uncertain. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak. Evidently her foresight has saved me a funeral. "Was there any other woman back there in the States?" "Nary a female.
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