America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. Accordingly, he proceeded to a gate which stood upon the south, and guarded the passage communicating with the leads. As much as it killed her, she kept her mouth shut.
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