She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them. “I should love to come. You’ve got to adjust yourself to the people God has set about you. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. She taught him how to sail a proa, how to hack open a milk-coconut, how to relish bamboo sprouts. Fetter Lane, on the left, Gray's Inn, on the right, added their supplies. They stank, and she hated how they blocked the sunlight.
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