She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. The cook tried to ply her with spiced meat and fish soup. She loved him. But he does not come to see me since three days, even that these are my affairs and one could think that he would tell it to me if there is news, no?’ ‘When he has news to tell he will come, child, trust me,’ the old lady assured her. She gloried in it: he needed her.
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