With the lengthening evenings, our gypsy side emerges. In the early evening, the scholarly gentleman and I pack children and a pile of sauerkraut and apples (a wholesome, but not entirely filling, supper) into the trailers, and we head up the Trail. The boys get a swanky ride, and the scholarly gentleman and I get real, grown-up conversation, without interruptions. Everyone gets tuckered out. Except him:
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