In a corner, the Darkling Beetle rustles in its Cage, its Elytra the same unforgiving white as the great sand-waste call’d ‘Kalahari’ lying north of here […]
But when she desired an old riven oak to be cut down an oak in which the good people (fairies) loved to assemble — because it impeded some favourite view, the poor old woman almost went mad, […]
complacential love
Still, he describes … the yellow-breasted chats and tundra swans that would appear in his yard, looking for seed.
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