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The wooden palings that still skirted the breathing-room in front of them almost said aloud to every newcomer: "Where is the strip of land gone that we could see beyond, day by day; that belonged to God-knows-who; whose further boundary was the road the haycarts brought their loads on, drawn by deliberate horses that had bells?"
Her mother was Jezebel of the Sand Coulee, a notorious roadhouse in the southern part of the state; her father was God-knows-who some freighter or sheepherder, most like." "Interesting quite. Go on."