\" \"May Day. ’ It was the Press who forced the identity upon me. ’ ‘I’m hanged if I can make out either of you,’ complained Hilary. She was not altogether surprised when she found a deer, gutted of its entrails and strung with a garland of flowers, on the cave’s doorstep one humid summer morning. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries.
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