Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. Jack had brought away the bunch of keys which he had taken from Quilt Arnold, but, none of them would open it. Meat pies with sweet crust were stuffed with macaroni, steaks of pork and beef were pounded thin and grilled rare, capons had been marinated in plum wine and cinnamon, and veal sausages stewed in cream were served over fine noodles: all the dishes that he loved were present. Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds.
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