She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. ‘That was one of my own clever stories. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. He daren't quarrel with me: and if he does, let him look to himself.
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