Of course there were goats. Denis. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. With his black and gray hair, his gray-green eyes were a striking contrast and he looked even younger, as if he had been frozen at age thirty-three. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. Actually, he had come all this distance simply to fulfil a certain clause in his contract with Fate, to be in Canton on this particular day.
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