“All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. ’ ‘If he has a bullet inside of him,’ said the sergeant stolidly, ‘there ain’t no one can take it out better nor me. I'm no mollycoddle.
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