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6. B. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. This also struck her as odd. In truth, she had been quite glad to lose the argument about remaining while the bullet was dug out of Jack’s side.
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