Alas, Hazel was certain *this* tree was the one by which she had buried her acorns, but they still remained unfound. Roots were as she remembered and markings on the trunk were familiar too. Even the ground was undisturbedβor, at least, left no evidence of a past peculation. Where could be her treasures? She was not looking for a needleβshe was *being* needledβby every point in the history of heeded haysels harassed. ; )
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