The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. A garrison called to arms at dead of night on the sudden approach of the enemy, could not have been more expeditiously, or effectually aroused.
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