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Page 270
Don't run!" And Mrs. Bates fired again, and again, almost point blank. Peter staggered back.
Freed at last, Linda screamed, but Peter did not fall. He caught himself upright, one hand against the boulder. It was Mrs. Bates whose stride checked suddenly. In the next second, she went rigid, then collapsed before Peter, who had thrust himself toward her, could catch her. He seemed to fall forward then, almost on top of his aunt, and Linda flew over the distance between them, dropping to her knees beside him.
"Oh, my God," Peter groaned, his voice ragged with sobs.
"Where are you hurt?" Linda cried, grabbing at him.
There were tears running down his cheeks. "If I'd stayed in the gazebo," he whispered. "She wouldn't have run up the hill."
"Peter, where are you hurt?" Linda screamed, shaking him. "I saw her fire at you point-blank."
Slowly he reached forward and took the gun out of his aunt's hand. He held the wrist, then laid her hand gently down and wiped his face. "I'm sorry, Linda," he said softly. "I'm sorry we frightened you. I'm not hurt at all. Maybe a bruise from that last shot that was so close. I had put blanks in the gun a long time ago. I kept telling you I was in no danger."
The garden gate opened noisily, and the general came charging through. "Peter!" he bellowed. "Where are you? Are you all right?"
"I'm all right," Peter called huskily, and then, choking, "Aunt Em's dead."

 
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