One cannot successfully argue with a drunken man. ’ ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her. Softly she rose to her feet. But you shall swing, rascal,—you shall swing. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. “I knew I should have died!” She went fast into a state of shock. ’ ‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly.
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