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Our third morning we woke feeling hardened and fit: we made thirty-nine miles before noon and ate at Bodetia; from there we pushed on forty-five miles to Genoa, an eighty-four mile day, more in character. At Genoa we were for taking the coast road. We were all for haste.
At Cosa, at Vada, at Luna we had waked dreading to find the avengers up with us and ourselves prisoners; at Rosellae, at Pisa, at Bodetia, we had eaten with one eye on the door, expecting every instant to see our pursuers enter; so at every change-station, while our trappings were taken from our weary cattle and girthed on fresh mounts. So we were for the coast road as shortest.
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