167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. Despite him, it was the beauty that she had inherited from her mother they had used to gain the betrothal, and it had not been easy. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. If she spoke to a policeman she did not know what would ensue. Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror. He had, however, planned brilliant careers for his two sons, and, with a certain human amount of warping and delay, they were pursuing these.
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