The place was pockmarked with window-like holes everywhere—people were always 138 falling into them and breaking bones--it was for these lookouts why she had chosen it. “Stuffy these trees make the Avenue,” said Mr. He told me with a coarse nervous laugh. Men in this part of the world drink to forget the things they have lost. What about your luggage?” “I could get a few of my things, at any rate,” she said.
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