Gentlemen,—Mr. Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression. Jackson appears to do, it can't be very offensive to be told, that he's like him. At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God’s wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows. People of your sort—I don’t want the instincts to—to rush our situation. We remember it.
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