She was not altogether surprised when she found a deer, gutted of its entrails and strung with a garland of flowers, on the cave’s doorstep one humid summer morning. The manager tells me that you are an American. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. It had seemed to her that life might be very good indeed with his kindliness and sacrifice about her. She felt sickeningly empty.
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