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Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. ‘Very well,’ he said, lowering his own weapon. Were you born here, madame?’ ‘Mais non. Wood scarcely knew where he was. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. An old man and a young girl, the one as stubbornly offensive as the other. Anna stared back at every one with undaunted composure. .
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