She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her. At length, the body was brought towards him. This key," he added, taking it from the boy, "was purloined from me by your father, Jack. You are the High Priestess of Life. He was an imaginative young man. We must always move on. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. There was the world besides, looming darker and larger. It is not for myself I fear.
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