” True summer descended like a sticky fever upon August’s arrival, bringing with it miasmas of humidity that seemed to hang from the trees like mucus. ‘I’m a soldier, missie. "Shotbolt! by—" cried Austin, as the captive was dragged forth. “You are talking like a boy. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. It was easy to recognize, the one thing that had stayed the same over the years. Others pulled hats over their noses, cowered in their seats, and feigned that all was right with the world.
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