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I make an effort not to be too paranoid, though the events of last night
have hardly helped me to feel secure. I tell myself that, dressed as I am,
the woodcutter's reaction is only to be expected, and that I can put up
with it for the sake of food, drink and rest, all of which I badly need.
So I accept his invitation, and soon I am eating a hearty meal of bread and goat's cheese, with a tankard of water drawn from the well. (I refuse his offer of ale, wanting to keep my wits about me.) The bread is fresh and the cheese is good, and I start to feel better. "I don't get many visitors," my host says from across the table, "and certainly not unaccompanied young ladies. How did you finish up in such an out of the way spot as this?" I don't want to tell him any more about myself than I need. "I went for a walk in the woods and got lost. Then I stumbled across the track, and had to guess which way would take me back to the village. It seems that I guessed wrong." "Aye, you did that. You're about four miles from the village." So it seems that I have at least another hour's walk ahead of me. He continues: "But you're hardly dressed for a walk in the woods, and anyway it seems rather early in the day for that. Also I know everyone in the village, and you don't live there."
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7/13/2006 12:17:42 PM
Extending Enabled
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