Excerpt from The Den of the Sixteenth Section
The sun cast its last soft golden rays over the bosom of Mother Earth.
The quiet shades of evening were stealing softly over the splendor of the gorgeous autum nal gold.
Slowly, and with her head bowed, a tired and worn woman walked down the road to a small house, nestled back a few hundred yards from the highway, in a cluster of Crape Myrtle, and tall maples. A few old-time monthly rose bushes stood here and there, with a border of purple verbenas on each side of the long walk from the gate to the cottage.
As she neared the gate she heard a voice call, Mother, do come on. You walk like you were tired out.
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