Winn Dixie

The preacher unwrapped it and put it in his mouth, and after a minute, he started rubbing his nose and nodding his head.

"Do you like it?" I asked him. "It has a peculiar flavor . . ."

"Root beer?" I said. "Something else."

"Strawberry?" 'That, too. But there's still something else. It's odd." I could see the preacher getting further and further away. He was hunching up his shoulders and lowering his chin and getting ready to pull his head inside his shell.

"It almost tastes a little melancholy ," he said. "Melancholy? What's that?"

" Sad ," said the preacher. He rubbed his nose

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