There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. ’ ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her. The policemen were closing in from the sides to intervene. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. Nothing else weighs against it. While there's life there's hope.
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