An audible crack sounded in the kitchen and Mark slumped backwards, unconscious. Even in the daylight, it had a sombre and suspicious air, and seemed to slink back from the adjoining houses, as if afraid of their society. The militia offered little in the way of relief. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. Spurling, as if struck by a sudden idea.
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