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Extract of Histoires d’Elfes II
Paulin boy was a good boy. He liked his soil because it was good advantage for him. It was a good soil with clay, calcareous, a soft humus which showed we had enriched with constancy and love when he walked on his soil and Paulin boy, he was proud. And he was right. It was soft his soil, we had always the impression of walking on soft, living, aerial thing almost. It was not hard under the nicked feet even the stones were not sharped. When he worked his soil Paulin guy he was happy. Happy as we can be when the spade or the sinks itself as if it was expected as if it was welcomed, drawed up. And at the soft sowing times when he marked out his furrow it was as if the soil moved away for let him pass then each seed was like absorbed ready to devote itself at the sofest of the sleeps, winter’s one. Then Paulin guy he did not complain about nothing. He was good there. Happy. Quite happy. Feeded at the same time by love of his soil and by the fruits it gave him. In spring when all spring from the darkshadow to rush forward the sun it was an dazzle. First it was shy. A greening just perceptible. Little shoots daring just to show their noses point for fear of a late frost comes to shrivel them up. And then more confident all these shoots turned itselves leafs, each of its with it own genius to embark itselves on the conquest of the large world. The wheat was beating up their rectitude to the sky after having gathering together the stemsbenefector: peens and beans were rolling their tendril, salads were spreading their larges leafs…trees were coming out their flowers, their leafs, fruits, little by little were distinguishing itselves at the armput of the branchs. And the flowers, all those flowers of the field which were about to be a so soft pasture then to become a so good fuss for the next winter and the roses those beautiful roses with a so subtle, fresh or fascinating parfum.
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