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Page 355
Chapter Twenty-Three
Thorn let the pirogue float downstream along the Ohio. The storms had ended yesterday, but the river had not yet calmed; it plunged forward at an unusual speed for this time of summer, still overflowing its banks.
Its swift volatility matched his mood.
Ainsley had died. Not immediately, though. Thorn had continued to kneel beside him, cradling him in his final agony. Anguished that their friendship had come to this.
Thorn had not wished to stay for the funeral, but he had remained at Pittsborough for an extra day anyway, trading for goods for the inn at the trading post.
And, mostly, to search for Mariah. He'd walked through the town, about the fort, even to its far side and through the fertile orchards and fields of the King's Garden, which fed the soldiers. The storms had poured rain down upon him, and still he had looked for her.
No Mariah.
The last time anyone had seen her, she had been walking off with that man Porter, Will Shepherd's grandfather.

 
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