“I wonder which of us enjoys that most,” said Capes—“does he, or do we?” “He seems to get a zest—” “He does it and forgets it. In each pause she could sense his growing trepidation. ’ ‘Fancy my old pa thinking you was a French spy. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. Death belongs to God, young man. The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved.
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