I believe so because the 220 stories say his head was cut off by a tribe of witches and yet it still remained alive for many years after his decapitation. When they were going home she asked her mother why she and Gwen and Alice had cried. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed. Only au revoir. The room seemed a vacuum. “How dare you!” They were both astonished at the other’s strength. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. A native sold his supply of nuts in exchange for cloth, tobacco and so forth. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room.
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