The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. It was time to leave America. On this second excursion, forewarned, she would use no light and keep as quiet as a mouse, she vowed, and thus refrain from attracting the attention of the militia at the gates. But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that.
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