Sheila was a stout woman, her bosoms huge, her face 110 wide and square. He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. She had never thought of him at all in that way before. Fruit trees had been brought all the way from India so their product could be laden on the wedding table, fruits with exotic shapes and haunting flavors ended the meal, cleansing the palate.
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