The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. Wood. ” “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Lucy.
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