“ of it!” S said, waving .”

    “tle butter and serve it to th marzipan and sugar.”

    Or . But as I airs, t up to me, screaming, pusedly. “Be sloted te backs.

    is to be ly given o a book.

    “Your guest ed,” I said. “I  trouble you much?”

    “On trary,” ertained me. ful as ever of e.”

    “Good.”

    “But now ing.”

    less to observe my reaction to close t in a manner t made ligongue, as I am  to do. time, t t of Black making ground on e horse, and I shuddered.

    I’m not sure   later in t, Or joined us; tussled o to my bosom and felt t on my breasts.

    “Ainks. I’m going to send you to tomorroh hayriye.”

    “I don’t  to go to t said.

    “oo grown-up?” I said.

    “Mot said.

    I  into t I usually  my skin  and alive. I’d rubbed a bit of rouge onto my c I evened it out by licking my palm and rubbing my c my relatives, t

    at t I look more like a sixteen-year-old maiden ty-four-year-old mot her prime?

    Believe truly believe t tell you any more.

    Don’t be surprised t I’m talking to you. For years I’ve combed tures in my fat beauties. t, if feically. Never do tand straigans rated books by careless artists are trained not on tration—o kno’s say a lover or a goblet—but directly at t t reader.

    I s o time of tamerlane, volumes for ries: Perant land en to tory of mine. Isn’t t lies beo be inscribed in t it just for t t sultans and viziers proffer bags of gold to ories ten? , just like tiful side, I