How could she tell him what indeed already began to puzzle herself, why she had borrowed that money at all? The plain fact was that she had grabbed a bait. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. ” “Please get off at the next exit. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now.
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