Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. 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. The pistol was lowered slightly. ‘I’m following a scent.
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