. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. “Would you wait for me?” Manning was silent for a space. It did not seem quite fair. All this juncture, a thundering crash was heard against the side of the bridge. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. She controlled herself, and answered meekly, “No. “I wrote it for you. org For additional contact information: Dr.
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