"Come along, my sly shaver. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. You are to remain here until you are well. He smiled complacently. The starling, on which the carpenter stood, was the fourth from the Surrey shore. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest.
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