She pushed between the pews, hoping to reach the sword first, while desperately holding on to her petticoats to keep them up, as her sword arm wavered. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. She must not show anything. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. " "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. I do not love any one. She was my first love.
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