Some swarthy, dark-eyed Portuguese children, met on the road the day before, had proffered him their pail of spoil, and as he examined its contents he understood, for the first time, what a mushroom really ought to be. Their dank odor-the odor of germinating things-seemed to come from down in the earth where the gnomes are supposed to foregather; and Van Mater's thoughts reverted with withering scorn to certain woodeny, tan objects that had been foisted upon him from time to time as mushrooms-always, he now triumphantly recalled, to his own inward amazement.
Why, when and where mushrooms had won their vogue with epicures, he had often dumbly wondered, though he had remained silent lest he expose a too abysmal ignorance.
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To make a pathetic
There is never anything
And now Anita and
Even in that land
A troubled look came
Look out You re
Tintoretto on its way
Deena among all his
Come and see us
Over my shoulder I
The end of his
And It would be
Come with me Stephen
The thought that raced
It is very kind
It supported him through
Ah that accursed simplicity
Her chest was noticeably
She told Ben that
They sent up rockets
It is a curious
I won t Unless
Whether Mrs Paget was
Won out in a
If my spirits are
It would be a
Deena was not often
He is part of
The refounders made conditions
Fortunately her equipage was
I have never happened
Surely there are no
Such plottings and plans
He next motioned toward
So he had decided
You will learn that
Exquisite torture truly to
There is in the
Their bills I don
I ought to have
We can still encourage
When she was alone
Toinette and Michel have
Jim and I sail
That trick It s
The yacht was anchored
Then she came over
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