“That’s it,” she said. She attended to that, and then dismissed it as unimportant. The future? He dared not speculate upon that. She began to weep in long, aching sobs. 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. I consider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. ‘Jacques?’ she called. I hope—I am sure that he did not see me.
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