It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. "Two hundred pounds!" exclaimed Ireton, "besides the governor's offer—that's three hundred. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. \"Do you want a snack?\" \"No thanks.
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