The day was warm even under an overcast sky and Hilary, uncomfortable, shifted his weight. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. There are pretty much three types, those that accept, and those who run away, and those who fight. She blew on the hand cannon and grabbed her bag of gunpowder. The crash was tremendous. But I request that a third may be given to Langley.
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