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LUCAS MALLORY—AT LAST
I put him down on the kitchen floor and struck a light. It was Evelyn.
She was in heavy army shoes, and a new Confederate uniform. Her hair had been cut off.
I raced up-stairs with her and put her on her bed, calling Betsy. But, before waiting for her to get there, I ripped open her jacket to find the wound. A rough gray undershirt, a man's, instead of the dainty things she ought to have worn, covered her nice body. It was soaked with blood.
