be a good ty-five t c muc at t distance, but you could see it on te, rees round it, and to of black bombing planes came over town.
I scarted slo. You knoinuous ro of steps, all exactly t a little before I got to topped again. On t of t e neery. I stopped opposite te to it.
It y acres, I s a neery, s ras roug look like somet t in t existed. te cemetery to belong to—Blackett, it o me only t to ty acres to dump t ting tery out o t noos its cemetery on tskirts. S a out of sig bear to be reminded of deatombstones tell you tory. t t’s al so in to every day, you sa mind looking at t , s too well sealed.
I let t imagine s, cs of rees and co t once, a kind of t used to be, actually existed s. to gro t any fields or any bulls or any mus le ra anyt a patcruggling among t mats, and snotty-nosed kids playing along t. All strangers! turned. And yet it ranger, t kno ter and ett and Uncle Ezekiel, and cared less, you bet.
It’s funny s. I suppose it es since I’d ed at top of tually a bit out of breat t of seeing Lo used to t Loies of Peru. I braced up and faced it. After all, ? too groo live someill existed, t instead of fields. In a fees I’d be seeing it again, troug-place. I got to ttom of took t-urning, and a minute later I .
I could remember not even remember too begin. All I kne in treet existed. For —a ratreet, raig and tle pub—and o. Finally I pulled up beside a y apron and no uck my of the window.
‘Beg pardon—can you tell me to t-place?’
S tell’. Ans you could cut s of tressed areas. tools coming along and tried again. time I got t o t.
‘Market-place? Market-place? Lessee, now. O?’
I supposed I did mean t.
‘Oake t ‘and turning—’
It seemed to me, t a mile. ball grounds—nely c even boto knoo I grasped presently o call t-place . t properly call it a square, because it icular soraffic-ligatue of a lion o fes. It like t. But suddenly I so a street reet!
After all my memory