The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. Having secured this,—for he was almost famished,—he said that he had lost a hammer and wished to purchase one. Go up and get my daughter so we can have some homemade pie. "Why do you laugh?" he asked.
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