She glides along, her skirt touching the grass top as she sways to the beat of unwritten songs.
The mining boomtown she remembered, was now a ghost town.
I guess it's like race cars - if you get the right line you can come out at top speed.
On one side of him ready for an excursion, with bowl hat, short-skirted dress of black, and all the other fashionable devices with which women contrive to deform the beauties of nature, there sat his daughter, while Malone, hat in hand, waited by the window.
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