He often read old writers like Robert Boyle on his break, meditating in the countryside through the horrors of a civil war, “When we journey through the secrets of nature, when we treat divine matters, the mind must be treated from its evils and continually strengthened.” Had he ever taken even a moment of those daily walks, considering Boyle, his rising rent, or a great many topics, to see into the branches? Had he seen the chick’s mother piecing together her nest, searching for food or fending off the park’s gardeners and predators alike?
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