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Rh blood. She was answering her own question. "I know. They've been hounding you—the cowards!"

"Does it make no difference to you—all that I've done?" asked Andrew.

"What is it that should make a difference?"

"I have killed a man."

"Ah, it was that brother to the Dozier man. But I've learned about him. He was a bloodhound like his brother, but treacherous. I've learned everything about him, and people say it was a good thing that he died. Besides, it was in fair fight. Fair fight? It was one against six!"

"Don't," said Andrew, breathing hard, "don't say that! You make me feel that it's almost right to have done what I've done. But besides him—all the rest—do they make no difference?"

"All of what?"

"People say things about me. They even print them." He winced as he spoke.

But she was fierce again; her passion made her tremble. "When I think of it!" she murmured. "When I think of it, the rotten injustice makes me want to choke 'em all! Why, to-day I heard—I can't repeat it. It makes me sick—sick! And you're only a boy, Andrew Lanning!"

It was a staggering blow. He was not altogether sure that he was glad to hear this statement. He made himself his full height.

"Some people would smile if they heard you say that," said Andrew.

"If you draw yourself up like that again I'll laugh at you. Andrew Lanning, I say, you're just a boy. You're not two years older than I am. Why, they've hounded you and bullied you until they've made you think you are