Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around. She raided their settlements in shifts, staggering her kills from tribe to tribe, undiscriminating of their petty politics. ‘Do not move, messieurs, or I shall be compelled to blow off your head.
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