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The sight of a cock pheasant sitting on the compost heap, under a linden tree in the corner of the garden, is certainly unusual. He has taken up the position on several occasions.

Two scriptores came yesterday. They did not hiss and boo when I read my ms. One of them made noises, which in translation seemed to mean, don't bother tearing it up, and the other said it was a good idea. Elizabeth read us a story she had written years ago and David read a poem he wrote recently which contained a clever line.

      

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