“One is always playing the surgeon, one kills always the thing one loves best. To prevent the leaves from blowing about, should a blow develop, he distributed paper weights. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. But there have been times, Anna, when your work has startled me.
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