“You mustn’t say anything more to your mother, Michelle. \" Michelle's shoulders sank, feeling the weight of the pack. The inn was a military haunt. The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black. Before retracing his steps, however, he allowed his gaze to range over the vast and beautiful prospect spread out beneath him, which is now hidden, from the traveller's view by the high walls of the General Cemetery, and can, consequently, only be commanded from the interior of that attractive place of burial,—and which, before it was intersected by canals and railroads, and portioned out into hippodromes, was exquisite indeed.
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