What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return. "He is," returned Quilt, significantly.
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