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The Night Is Chill
Chairman's bags were handed out and put in the Kalesh. The driver cracked his whip and called to his horses, and off they swept on their way to Bukovina. A cloak was thrown over my shoulders and a rug across my knees. There is a flask of sliver-weets, the plum brandy of the country underneath the seat. I did not take any, but it was a comfort to know it was there all the same. It seemed to me that we were simply going over and over the same ground again - so I took note of some salient point. Then far off in the distance, from the mountains on each side of us began a louder and