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"Hullo, Gore!" The young soldier stopped, started, colored with annoyance, and with a surprised expression turned to look on the other soldier who had addressed him. After a moment's scrutiny of the stranger's genial smile he extended his hand with pleased recognition. "Conniston," said he, "I thought you were in America." "So I am; so don't call me Conniston at the pitch of your voice, old boy. His lordship of that name is camping on Californian slopes for a big game shoot. The warrior who stands before you is Dick West of the .. Lancers, the old Come-to-the-Fronts. And what are you doing as an Imperial Yeoman, Gore?" "Not that name," said the other, with an anxious glance around. "Like yourself, I don't want to be known." "Oh! So you are sailing under false colors also?"
© 2018 Aeterna Classics (Rafbók): 9783963769979
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Rafbók: 31 maj 2018
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