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Updated: May 29, 2025
Saxham passed on, stepping neatly with his small, tan-booted, spurred feet between the dung and chip fires curling up in blue smoke-spirals, and the sprawling children, seeming as though he did not notice them, yet catching up one that had a rash, and satisfying himself that the eruption was innocent ere he passed on, visiting every waggon-dwelling and cave-refuge, rating the inhabitants of some, dosing the occupants of others, emerging from three or four of the stuffy, ill-smelling places with a heavy frown that boded ill for somebody.
The handful of chimneys and the smoke-spirals rising here and there among the trees on the river-bank belonged to what was known as the Brier Neighborhood. There were only a few houses in all, scattered along a side road leading from the river up to Liberty Center.
"Let me see ... John, I think it is, John Fairfax." "How did you know?" Fairfax queried lazily, half-absorbed in curling smoke-spirals upward in the quiet air. "The papers were full of it at the time. Prevanche " "Prevanche!" Fairfax sat up, suddenly alert. "He was lost in the Smoke Mountains." "Yes, but he pulled through and came out." Fairfax settled back again and resumed his smoke-spirals.
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