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Her forceful “no, no, no” could have been directed at a panzanella that swapped hard peach slices for the usual tomatoes — the lone disappointment in multiple visits.

In the little peach orchard where there were a few half-ripe peaches, the very first fruits of the orchards in this untamed land, the hard peach stones, from which the meat was eaten away, hung on their stems among the leafless branches.

He thumbed the proposition as if it were a hard peach.