The hunter is among the most innocent of men; living in the moment makes him feel pure. When he returns in the evening, his body aches, his mind is full of pictures of leaves and sky; he does not want to read documents. His miseries, his perplexities have receded, and they will tay away, provided--after food and wine, laughter and exchange of storeis--he gets up at dawn to do it all over again.
But the winter king, less occupied, will begin to think about his conscience.
But the winter king, less occupied, will begin to think about his conscience.
( Hilary Mantel )
[ Wolf Hall ]
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