"Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. The stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise his impertinence.
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