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Lit with foolish hope to hear thy fondling sighs, Like yon twilight dove's, breathe, Return, return!

"This-yeh pla-ace?" The rustic dragged his words lazily, chewed tobacco with his whole face, and looked my uniform over from cap to spur. "They say this-yeh place belong to a man which his name Lu-ucius Ol-i-veh."

"She air!" He was pleased. "Yass, we all good frien's togetheh."

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