He kept at it even on those nights when the monsoon began to break with heavy storms and he had to weight down with stones everything on his table. Senior year started with a whimper. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose. ” Mrs. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. . He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts.
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