The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. ‘It is to say goodbye, you understand. “But you must forgive me, John. Gianfrancesco was a contact of mine, I had allied myself to his father before him, and unbeknownst to anyone, to his Great-great-granduncle during the time of Crusades. ’ ‘I do not need the rescue from such as you. What Miss Miniver would have called the Higher Truth supervenes.
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