



The Goldfinch 



CHAPTER XXII 



Goldfinches at Ryme Intrinsica 



There is much in a name, and when I left Yeovil to 

 run to Dorchester by that lonely beautiful road which 

 takes you by the clear swift Cerne and past the ancient 

 figure of a giant with a club, on the down side over 

 against Cerne Abbas, I went a little distance out of 

 my way to look at a small village solely on account of 

 its singular and pretty name. Or rather two villages — 

 Yetminster and Ryme Intrinsica. Who would not go 

 a dozen miles out of his road for the pleasure of seeing 

 places with such names! At the first I was unlucky, 

 since the only inhabitant I made acquaintance with was 

 an unprepossessing voluble old woman with greedy eyes 

 who, though not too poor, at once set herself to con- 



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