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Updated: May 8, 2025
She sensed, also, why he had come to this mountain shack so boldly. In his dementia he knew no better. And she was alone with him, unarmed now. "I'll keep it down," she whispered, watching his face out of fear-distended eyes. The wind blew one of the rotten blankets inward. Thereby she knew that the window-aperture on the south wall contained no sash.
Above her head seemed to be stretched a canopy, made by some Eastern magic, of a mixture of colours woven by the hands of Love and Hate, Passion and Revenge, underneath which she stood disheartened, dishevelled, in crumpled clothes and shoeless feet, with fear-distended eyes in a fatigue-shadowed face, searching vainly for something alive and near, be it human, dog, horse or camel.
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