The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. ’ ‘Gosse,’ corrected Lucilla. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. Jack hastily retreated, and taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended the cellar steps. "Coming!—so is midnight—so is Jonathan Wild," retorted Jack, with a significant look at Thames.
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