He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. His glances were hard to disguise as he scanned her periodically during class. If he escapes at all, it must be before our faces. She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible. “Yes,” he said, “I want to get away.
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