"And now to dispose of our dead. Figg?" asked Gay. It was not until the morning of the fifth day that the constant vigil was broken. She had heard the trader utter it many times. I have yet another. ’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours.
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