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” Anna’s eyes were a little dim as she poured out her coffee, and the laugh she attempted was not altogether a success. I am dreadfully sad. ” “And no one else—has a key?” “I believe,” she said, “that that man must have one. He sent me home. The stags and oxen and things all have to fight for us, everywhere. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. It isn't your duty.
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