49ers all white

I clenched my teeth. "I am nineteen, madam."

"What, a leather-curtained spring-wagon?"

"Deserters, I don't doubt!" was my comment to the ladies. Tongue revenge is poor, but it is something.

On the crest of a ridge we slackened speed and my fellow-traveller lifted her veil and asked exultantly what those two splendid stars were that overhung yonder fringe of woods so low and so close to each other. The less brilliant one, I said, the red one, was Mars.

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