At first Spurlock tasted coconut in his eggs, in what meat he ate; it permeated everything, taste and smell. Mother and Son XI. It interwove with her biological work. . . . Ennison reeled, and almost fell. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think.
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