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MacRae rose to his feet as he spoke. "You're white, if you did get off wrong. I'll remember what you did for her. Is there anything we can do for you?" Goodell shook his head. "I tell you," he said, and turned his head to look wistfully up at the eastern coulée-rim, all tinted with the blazing sunset. "I'll go out over the hills with the shadows. An hour maybe two. It's my time.
Miss Satterly seemed about to speak, but she changed her mind and gazed at the coulee-rim. "It's hard to get away, these days," Weary went on explaining. "I wanted to come before the dance, but we were gathering some stuff out the other way, and I couldn't. The Old Man is shipping, yuh see; we're holding a bunch right now, waiting for cars.
The shadows had flowed over the coulee-rim and the hilltops were smothered in gloom when Miss Satterly went home that night, and her aunt Meeker sent her straight to bed and dosed her with horrible home remedies. By morning she had recovered her spirit her revengeful spirit, which she kept as the hours wore on and Weary did not come. She would teach him a lesson, she told herself often.
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