Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times. ‘Oh, peste,’ she cried out in distressed tones. She used to play violin, you know. 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. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain.
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