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"Would I not tell my dream, as nice young men in the Bible always did?"

almost pleasing. "Good-bye, Smith, remember your failings."

No, I barely remembered the rider had generously moved aside to let me go by. In pure sourness at the poverty of my dress and the perfection of his, I had avoided looking at him higher than his hundred-dollar boots. My feet were in uncolored cowhide, except the toes.

"Yes." She stooped low under the interlacing boughs and plunged with me into the double darkness.

I stepped back, heaving. "Who and what are you? Who and what are you?"

I dilated. "Who told--did Ned Ferry tell you that story?"

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