You owe what I have done for you, to him, not to me. " "I was never going to tell anybody," she added. 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. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. Things happen to women—proper women—and all they have to do is to take them well. ‘Some ineligible that your parents would not tolerate, I suppose. At last—I told a story. I know that in my heart I would take whatever he gave. A few seasons went by where he initiated her into the disgusting rituals of killing and eating human beings, a dark time where she pined for a rescuer who never arrived.
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