Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. Mike chortled. “It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a hint—a fellow countrywoman too. Blank it was, except for a gate near the bridgehead. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright.
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