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Literature

The Night and the Treachery

XXVIII. The Night and the Treachery On the snow-covered road outside of Yarner, the farmer, Martin Downe, questioned the boy with his horse and cart about the coach that had passed through earlier in the day. “Come, boy,” Downe asked. “What more can you remember?” “There was one more thing, but I doubt it should help you. The passengers found a man dead on the moor there, where that marker stands. You see? They stumbled on a stiff one, his body slashed open, looked to be by claws. People kept gathering round it, but none shed much in way of tears, as like afraid they should freeze on their cheeks.” “Terrible.” “It is for me. I've been taking messages back and forth since dawn.” “Oh, well, I'm... “My tenth ride today, this is. I'm for bed. If you'll excuse me...” The boy rode off before Downe could make any further overture of apology. The night was cold and the place was uninviting. It was thus that danger was averted for Brett Piper, for the last thing the boy