The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. ‘If you’ll have the goodness, missie, to move yourself out of the way,’ he said aggrievedly, ‘and let us at him, we might have a chance of doing just that. One might suppose him turning up; he knew a lot of clever people, and some of them might belong to the class. You shall not take me alive. It ought never to have begun.
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