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"Oh, do take care!" cries Mona, in an agony: "it is loaded. If you throw it about in that rough fashion, it will certainly go off and do you some injury." The postman himself is an institution in the village, being of an unknown age, in fact, the real and original oldest inhabitant, and still with no signs of coming dissolution about him, thereby carrying out Dicken's theory that a dead post-boy or a dead donkey is a thing yet to be seen. He is a hoary-headed old person, decrepit and garrulous, with only one leg worth speaking about, and an ear trumpet. This last is merely for show, as once old Jacob is set fairly talking, no human power could get in a word from any one else. Mona, not attempting to reason with her again, shakes her head despondingly, and leaves the cabin with Geoffrey at her side..
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Conrad
"Where are you now, Mona?" asks Geoffrey, suddenly, laying his hand with a loving pressure on her shoulder. "In Afghanistan or Timbuctoo? Far from us, at least." There is a little vague reproach and uneasiness in his tone. The Blackfeet believe that the Sun made the earth—that he is the creator. One of the names by which they call the Sun is Napi—Old Man. This is how they tell of the creation: "The boys!" repeats he, mystified. "Mona, are you still there?" he says, with a return to consciousness: "did I dream, or did my father speak to me? How the night comes on!" He sighs wearily. "I am so tired,—so worn out: if I could only sleep!" he murmurs, faintly..
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