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Abstract

The dark slides like a tight glove over the solitary woods camp, and no man’s light affronts the majesty of the night sky. An insipid stirring of the warm evening air sets a single pine bough to swaying. Overall, stillness reigns— silence but for the monotony of a distant chuck-wills-widow and the earnest chant of frogs from some distant bog beyond the gloomy line of slash pines— the trees that make of the camp an island in a shadowy, evergreen sea.

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