Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. And what a noise they made! This is how I used to call them. They’re just a joyous softening of the outline—more beautiful than perfection. Wood cut him short by stating his intention of crossing the river as soon as possible in order to avoid the storm. ‘Yes, a very sad story,’ agreed the major. She sat herself upon the bed. " "That 'ud be no such easy matter," replied the countryman.
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