A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. I don’t want to stop your singing. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. This girl was strong and vital: how would she take it when she learned that she had cast her lot with a fugitive from justice? For McClintock was certain that Spurlock was a hunted man.
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