Mah sanctum - mah cave of wine and moss - is to mah right about ten paces into the thicket that surrounds me now. So dense grows the swampland that sometimes it would take me up to thirty minutes to find the little hidaway ah had fashioned, though ah had been there hundreds and hundrets of times. Ah would look for the strips of white sheet, bright like bush ghosts, that hung along the woven walls - they would tell me where.
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