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had become, and she wanted to take his hand, to hold it against her cheek. Instead, she smiled into his eyes until he said, "Let us continue." |
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They quickly reached the town, so different from the entrancing Pittsburgh she'd flown over in a plane. But the tiny borough of this day somehow held even more appeal, with its small and sparse log buildings along dirt roads, fresh, sweet air, and nearby stalwart fort. |
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Mariah had noticed Allen Traders along the main street when she'd been there before. It was a log cabin, as were most of the structures, but larger. It had glass in the windows, a nicety she'd ignored before, assuming all windows had glass. The glass's quality, though, left much to be desired; it was thick, with numerous bubbles marring its smooth texture. |
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She followed Thorn through an open wood door. Inside, the single room was crammed full of goods. A bear skin, with head intact, hung on one wall. Other furs formed a tall stack in the comer. Pots of many sizes hung from the rafters, and barrels scattered between tables were laden with everything from rifles to food. Two walls held narrow shelves filled with more goods. |
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The place didn't smell particularly appealing, and Mariah tried to identify the conglomeration of odors that caused her to hold her breath: mustiness, spoiled food, gunpowder, rancid tallow, tobacco? |
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Patrons fingered goods from the tables or lifted the lids of barrels to peek inside. Not exactly the sanitary packaging of her day, Mariah thought, but customers could see just what they were gettingbugs, perhaps, and all. |
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Thorn's moccasins made no noise on the wooden floor, but Mariah's boots clumped as she walked toward the first table. People murmured, and Mariah heard the rapid footsteps of the portly man who approached them. He wore an apron. "Mr. Thorn, I have not seen you in many a day. Welcome." |
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Thorn, touching a long-barreled rifle among several on a table, glared as though waiting for the man to admit he wanted this particular uninvited customer to leave, but the |
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