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He had called Henry to him that morning, and had enquired about "The Fennels," which had lately been published after a postponement and much hesitation, and about the new book on which Henry was now working. "That's right," he said, when he heard that Henry was working steadily on it. "It'll keep your mind from broodin'. How's the Ulster book goin'?" "'The Fennels'?" "Ay.
And so, sooner than he had anticipated, he returned to Ballymartin, where "The Fennels" was finished, and there he stayed until Gilbert wrote and asked him to join him at Tre'Arrdur Bay. "You can't get much nearer to Ireland than that," he wrote: "You hop into the boat at Kingstown and hop out of it again at Holyhead and there you are!..."
But, at this moment, Claudet stoops to pick up a cartridge, a ball strikes him in the forehead, and, without a sound, he drops to the ground, among the noisome fennels which flourish in graveyards he drops, thinking of the clock of his native village. "I have sad news for you," said Julien to Reine, as he entered the garden of La Thuiliere, one June afternoon.
But, at this moment, Claudet stoops to pick up a cartridge, a ball strikes him in the forehead, and, without a sound, he drops to the ground, among the noisome fennels which flourish in graveyards he drops, thinking of the clock of his native village. "I have sad news for you," said Julien to Reine, as he entered the garden of La Thuiliere, one June afternoon.
But, at this moment, Claudet stoops to pick up a cartridge, a ball strikes him in the forehead, and, without a sound, he drops to the ground, among the noisome fennels which flourish in graveyards he drops, thinking of the clock of his native village. "I have sad news for you," said Julien to Reine, as he entered the garden of La Thuiliere, one June afternoon.
"It'll be out in September. I corrected the final proofs last month. I think it's rather good." "Better than 'Turbulence' or 'The Wayward Man'?" "Yes, I think so. I'm calling it 'The Fennels. That's the name of the people it's about. I've taken an Ulster family and ... well, that's what I've done. I've taken an Ulster family and just shown it.
In London, Henry began "The Fennels," but after he had written a couple of chapters, he found himself unable to proceed with it. "I must go back to Ireland," he said to Gilbert. "I want the feel of Ulster. I can't get it into this book unless I'm there, somehow!"
She crawled over the ground, as though she would have carried off the very soil itself in a clutch of supreme passion. She filled her skirt with a harvest of aromatic plants, southernwood, mint, verbenas. She came across a border of balm, and left not a leaf of it unplucked. She even broke off two big fennels which she threw over her shoulders like a couple of trees.
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