Norman broke his spleen into two pieces and handed me one piece and we ate both pieces together, under the thick tarp we’d stretched overhead. I ate mine raw because that is my preference, but he lightly sautéed his in a heavy pan with a drop of butter and two eggs, one of which I ate, and three slivers of garlic, which we carefully retrieved from the pan and replaced in the wax paper we keep in our pockets. Boorn ate nothing. He had nothing, and as he was allergic to eggs and unwilling to eat the spleen, he sat and watched us with his big, greedy eyes.
            “Perhaps I will try a bit of spleen next time,” he finally said, when we were done.

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