“Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. They were sounding more and more like Civic every day. Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud. Only that I was prevented by one of those soldiers that caught me in the big house. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. He shut his eyes and groped for the wall to steady himself, wondering if this bit of mummery would get over. ‘He don’t mean you no harm. But she must not laugh.
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