At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. Wood became sensible that he was not alone. He could not doubt it. Wood, when he does return, I'd send him about his business. In the pause a door could be heard opening and closing on the landing up-stairs. . ‘I am sure you will.
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