He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. Tombs were desecrated, beautiful statues toppled, and the colorful shops that she had been enchanted by along the canal had been closed or burned. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. “Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. “You, anyhow, don’t deserve it,” he said.
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