“How’s the star?” John’s father asked. She peered into the darkness. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. God had never answered any of her prayers. Everybody talking of you. "I am here, you see," said the smith.
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