Sydney was watching her eagerly. He turned me so that he could have a companion in his loneliness. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. He worried me to marry him. He tried to make love to me. Presently the odour of burnt powder mingled agreeably with that of the incense. She looked upon it with pity as she drank his diabetic blood and saw that several of his fingers were missing.
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