You put your hand flat on the hedge wall and it is warm and it is breathing, which is not a thing yew does, and you take your hand off and say nothing for a moment.

PorterThere is no sound in here. Not no wind, no sound. Twenty minutes in a field and you hear a fox or an owl. We have heard nothing but shears.

MioneBecause it is holding the evening still. That is what being hosted feels like. Somebody is doing a great deal of work to keep you comfortable.

Somewhere behind the hedge, from the far side of a wall they have not reached, footsteps pass going the other way and none of them are yours.