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... n in a golden haze. The scent of gunpowder still lingered from Boothill’s last shots, mixing with the scent of old wood and dry earth. Kevin and March 7th stood in a rough semicircle around him, breath heavy, bodies coiled like springs.
Boothill adjusted his grip on his revolvers, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Ain’t often I get a pair that lasts this long. Most folks drop after the first shot."
Kevin wiped sweat from his forehead, glaring. "Yeah, well, sorry to disa ...
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