“Why? Do you think I’m a stoner?” He asked. " Prudence shrugged. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. One day it was gone. She felt she had to go on. Then, her body still tense with the atoms of anger, she sat down upon the edge of the bed and rocked from side to side. Perhaps in the beginning the women made fools of themselves over him.
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