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Updated: May 14, 2025
Then, too, they would always stop beside a certain landmark, a great stone, because it looked something like the cromlech at Locneuven. Every Sunday on arriving at the first clump of trees Luc le Ganidec would cut a switch, a hazel switch, and begin gently to peel off the bark, thinking meanwhile of the folk at home. Jean Kerderen carried the provisions.
They were walking slowly, Luc Le Ganidec and Jean Kerderen, contented and sad, haunted by a sweet sorrow, the slow and penetrating sorrow of a captive animal which remembers the days of its freedom. And when Luc had finished whittling his stick, they came to a little nook, where every Sunday they took their meal.
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