Her sense of humour could not wholly resist his abnormal gravity. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. She undid his zipper and pulled his shorts down his hips. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. ” He left the room, and she stood motionless, with flaming cheeks, listening to his retreating footsteps.
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