She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. And he had gone away without knowing the truth! "My proa boys are ready; the wind is brisk; and in an hour we shall be beyond all pursuit. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget.
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