Her gaze flickered down to his pistol. “And yet,” he said, “you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her.
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