Against the sinister, the threatening, monstrous inhumanity of the limitless city, there was nothing now but this supreme, ugly fact of a pursuit— the pursuit of the undesired, persistent male. Walking into the bedroom, she quickly shed the miniskirt and sweater, folding them without ceremony. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat.
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