He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance. He stared at her breasts while he touched them. ’ ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her. “Katy Pfister. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had.
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