He did not particularly care. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour. "He has fallen by the hand of Blueskin, who brought me these packets. And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. That she had not bought one piece of linen subtly established in Ah Cum's mind the fact that she had no home, that the instinct was not there, or she would have made some purchase against the future.
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