‘You wouldn’t know one end of a pistol from the other. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes. The trader you spoke about: he disliked your father, didn't he? Well, he probably played your father a horrible practical joke. She and I were very close. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered.
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