A man is begging on the side of a Tennessee mountain. He's crumpled on the ground, his clothes are soaking wet, and he's sucking air hard. His wife weeps as she huddles over him, her hands resting softly on his arm. Above them stands a bearded figure in a wide-brimmed hat and a worn-out oilskin duster.
"I got all my pages!" pleads the man on the ground. His voice is shrill, hysterical. "I dropped down the wrong side of the mountain in the fog. I had to swim a river." He gasps for air again. "I got all my pages!"
A small group of onlookers cover their mouths and stare. They look from the broken man on the ground to the inscrutable face of the bearded figure looming over him.
"He got all his pages," repeats a voice in the crowd. "He got all his pages."
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