He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. Sheila wouldn’t allow me to date a boy even if he was only fifteen—I mean sixteen, like I am, you see. "This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs.
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