
        from FUGUE FOR AN OCTOBER AGE                             GHOSTS  4
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             We ascend a sharp rise, come down into a narrow valley.   On my
        side  are  a  few  weatherbeaten miner's shacks, boarded up and over-
        grown  with  weeds.  On Ginny's side is a level, cindery place and a
        small bonfire.
             "And oh look at that," Penny says.
             In  the  yellow, flickering  light, I see three figures grouped
        about a fourth figure who is lying on the ground.  The  fire  has  a
        curious  opaque  look  and there is an eerie kind of precision about
        the people, like shadows cast upon a screen.  Whether  they  are men
        or  women  I  cannot  tell because of the long, nondescript garments
        they  wear.   We pass them by, cross a rickety bridge, plunge onward
        into the darkness.  The rain has become a steady, sodden downpour.
             "I wonder who they were," I say.
             "You  mean  you  couldn't tell?" Penny says.  "They were ghosts,
        that's what they were.  Ghosts."
             The  windshield begins to mist.  I scrub at it with the palm of
        hand.
             "Because if they weren't ghosts, what could they have been?   I
        mean, the  quiet  way they were standing there.  And the funny, flat
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