Dixon folded the journal and rose with dignity, saying: --Our men retired in good order. But the journey of our America must go on. There was the smell of evening in the air, the smell of the fields in the country where they digged up turnips to peel them and eat them when they went out for a walk to Major Barton's, the smell there was in the little wood beyond the pavilion where the gallnuts were. "Well, yes--I may as well make a clean breast of it.
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