Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. Outside the door stood one of the soldiers. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. He's on the ragged edge. Coolly and gingerly, she kissed it as it stood at its hard angle from his body. “It is not possible,” he exclaimed.
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