The moon had arisen, and everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day. The temperature soared to one hundred degrees, sickeningly hot. “She thinks that Missy is trying to turn me into a punk or a Goth. I want you beyond measure or reckoning. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard.
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