On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. ‘But to do only what one wishes, it is not always convenient. ” “You would let him—knowing—all that you know?” “Why not? She is my flesh and blood. He saw his father, calling to him from an icy white tunnel, beckoning to him. . In each pause she could sense his growing trepidation. I wish that it worked.
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