The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. If Martha knew all, she would certainly die of shock. The idea of this sudden reluctance was elusive; the fact was evident but not the reason for it. But out of a belated regard for her father she wrote the surname of some one else. I don’t know if I express myself clearly. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. ’ ‘She once more,’ came in disgust from the girl on the bed.
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