His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. She had seen for herself right up in the bedroom window with her binoculars when Joanie was gone shopping one night, right with her own eyes. But don’t think your heroic milice will save you. “But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand.
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