" And before she could be prevented, she lifted up the cloth, and disclosed Shotbolt. Entering the workshop, he found the blacksmith occupied in heating the tire of a cart wheel. Nowhere could he see that reaching, menacing Hand. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. But the wench who tricked me shall bitterly repent it. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. Clean water. He had an objective now.
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