“What can one do?” asked Ann Veronica. It did not seem quite fair. 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. In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. “If one was free,” she said, “one could go to him. John picked it up and put it in her hands. “He ran some Austrian fellow off.
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