Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. It's precisely what such a simpleton would do. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. Following this direction, he opened a gate, and struck into one of the most beautiful green lanes imaginable; which, after various windings, conducted him into a more frequented road, and eventually brought him to the place he sought. Perhaps it was the recollection of those happy days. Jack Sheppard's Quarrel with Jonathan Wild.
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