‘Silence,’ hissed a voice in French. Kneebone. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. A sob was strangled in her throat. “H’m!” he said, regarding the wreckage with a calmer visage. "The traps!" responded a bystander. “Oh.
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