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These stumps of trees are a curious feature in American travelling. The varying illusions they present to the unaccustomed eye as it grows dark, are quite astonishing in their number and reality. Now, there is a Grecian urn erected in the centre of a lonely field; now there is a woman weeping at a tomb; now a very commonplace old gentleman in a white waistcoat, with a thumb thrust into each arm-hole of his coat; now a student poring on a book; now a crouching negro; now, a horse, a dog, a cannon, an armed man; a hunch-back throwing off his cloak and stepping forth into the light.
There he is: the brother. Image of him. Haunting face. Now that's acoincidence. Course hundreds of times you think of a person and don'tmeet him. Like a man walking in his sleep. No-one knows him. Must be acorporation meeting today. They say he never put on the city marshal'suniform since he got the job.verrefok
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