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Mister Spare owns a pen that can write 320 miles. That’s how the pen was sold to Mister Spare: as a 320-mile pen. But Mister Spare isn’t going anywhere. Mister Spare writes in the same notebook every day. Mister Spare knows the pages in his notebook.
He knows the grain of the papers. He knows the colour of the ink flowing from his pen and the graceful curls of his handwriting, and he knows the kind of flowers that may grow from them.
Mister Spare wonders what he will do when his pen is empty. Mister Spare might go on a trip, travel somewhere, to a place 320 miles away from his notebook and away from his flowers, somewhere to the north, south, east or west, and there bury his pen, and wait and see what flowers will grow from that faraway soil. Mister Spare could do that. He really could. More probably, though, he will go to the stationery store around the corner to buy the same kind of pen. A pen that will allow Mister Spare
to continue in his notebook for another 320 miles. 320 miles. That’s a great many flowers.