There were perches inside where she could crouch and labyrinths underneath where she could hide. While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. She had been so busy with life that, for a vast gulf of time, as it seemed, she had given no thought to those ancient, imagined things of her childhood. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live.
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