Something insisted that those two were mysteriously linked—that the woman knew the man was there. Like stealing. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed. I did so. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. Even the chattering monkeys, parrots, and parrakeets departed the fruit groves for the smelly dark of the jungle. I should say that you owed me considerable.
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