They walked side by side for a time. “I’ve gotta go. There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut. Can’t travel alone, a pair of nuns. “It’s the spring,” he said. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. “You are very good,” she said.
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