They unloaded Michelle’s sleeping parents who had been propped up in the back seat, necks craned against each other. I struck him across the face, twisted the steering wheel of the motor, sprang out myself, and left him for dead on the road with the motor on top of him. ‘To begin with,’ he said, ‘allow me a very tiny intimacy. "But it wants something here. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha.
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