She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. "By the powers!" he added, turning his lantern full upon the face of the captive, "he's a nice gennteel-lookin' kiddy, I must say. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion. I haven't forgotten her previous history. She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers. Likely as not outside the law, too.
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