The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. They cannot imagine the discomforts involved, and they see only mystery in your fight to recover your lost heritage. "I shall want nothing more.
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