Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. ‘Brung the lantern, I did, and opened the door again in case you was ready. Beyond was a field sloping steeply upwards, and at the top a small pine plantation. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline.
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