It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. I never want you to be ashamed of me. They had heard nothing, seen nothing. He met her eyes with his fiery black gaze. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. . ” She said, knowing that his kindness was certainly not the primary motivation for his magnum opus. “I want to be your friend,” he said.
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