“Now I suppose Brendon understands exactly what you mean,” he remarked. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. Kneebone begged him to take the prisoner into the churchyard. He appeared to be strangely uncommunicative, though I tried to draw him out. ” He sat for a moment, absorbing.
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