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“One runs about,” said Ann Veronica. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. She snapped out of her blissful state and looked at him squarely in the eyes. In the rush of commuters he did not see her boarding his train. It was clear she wanted to get away from home, that she was impatient to get away from home. “Thank you.
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