Clearly dazed, he stared, whispering an oath. The idea of leaving for Mexico had become unbearable, as he was so easy to like and perhaps even easier to love. Also, you must send someone to fetch my horse—at least, it is not mine but I have borrowed it to come here—because it will be dark very soon and—’ ‘Woof! Hold it, hold it,’ begged the sergeant. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. The loneliness of the place somewhat depressed her. It was not possible.
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