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... f them, one young, one old, both male. Both rusty brown of hair, but clearly not related. They were clearly watching me as we approached. They walked normal, they talked normal, only their faces gave them away.
Cruel smiles, that reached all the way to their eyes. Both with clubs, one with a large sack.
I’d heard rumors of such activity, of course. But I’d always dismissed it as urban myth.
And I had always believed press gangs worked in larger numbers. But they had timed ...
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