“I want to make love for the first time tonight. ” “I wish you good luck,” she answered. ” He shook his head slowly, smiling mysteriously. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. One was in the Indian Civil Service and one in the rapidly developing motor business. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. He frowned. I just suppose it isn’t worth the trouble.
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