She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. Killed is too kind a word. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. She pulled the trigger. ‘Troops?’ ‘Go, man,’ urged the major in an undervoice. His head turned sideways towards the noise, his brows scowling. Although Martha did not know it, she had her pistol and her daggers, and her knife.
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