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Weekly Contest #319
The boy turned at the clatter of Jan’s horse, bowed and brought a muddy hand to his muddy forehead. He smiled, and there was admiration in his eyes. They liked their soldiers here in Orenburg, the feeling of being protected, of knowing that when the uncivilized came washing over the frontier there would be rough men who would throw them back. But every bow, every sign of respect served only to remind Jan of what he’d done.Jan sat straight in his saddle. Behind him his three Cossacks were working through a conversation, with long breaks inter...
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