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…Anon, the old man repeated, as if recalling from old memory a long disused word. ‘Yes, that was the name. Anon.’
He stepped down from the rock, and picked up his grey cloack wrapped it about him: it seemed as if the sun had been shining, but now was hid in a cloud again. ‘Yes, you can still call me Anon,’ he said, and the voice was the voice of their old friend and guide. ‘Get up, my good Pepe! No blame to you, and no harm done to me. Indeed my friends, none of you have any weapon that could hurt me. Be merry! We meet again. At the turn of the tide. The great storm is coming, but the tide has turned’.
He laid his hand on Pepe’s head, and the frog looked up and laughed suddenly. ‘Anon! he said. ‘But you are all in white!’
‘Yes, I am white now,’ said Anon. ‘Indeed I am Patriot, one might almost say, Patriot as he should have been. But come now, tell me of yourselves! I have passed through fire and deep water, since we parted. I have forgotten much that I thought I knew, and learned again much that I had forgotten. I can see many things far off, but many things that are close at hand I cannot see. Tell me of yourselves!’