Anna turned deliberately away from the bedside. “Hey sis!” He cried drunkenly. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. " "It is life. Or had you not noticed?’ He sneered. None at all. ‘Do you swear it? There’s no knowing if one can believe you. ” She muttered some unlady-like comment upon herself under her breath and engaged in secret additions. So she approached him with sandwiches.
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