Still silence everywhere. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. . It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. All she had found was the love of this dog. On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese.
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