" "Where did he get it?" inquired Wood, in surprise. Ever hear of the djinn in the bottle? Like enough. “Please forgive me. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. "Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. Thunder rumbled behind the manicured hills. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. He glanced at it, and saw the bloodied blade.
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