She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. Returning to the churchyard, he walked round it; and on the western side, near a small yew-tree discovered a new-made grave. ‘I cannot possibly shoot a lady, you know. “You pushed the wheel from my hand. He dashed against the screen door before she could catch him and made the veranda.
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