Their flitting hands were always touching. That was the glorious if bewildering truth. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair. If hopeless love for her made me a robber, it has also saved me many a crime. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. To prevent the leaves from blowing about, should a blow develop, he distributed paper weights. A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. A slender young man, wearing glasses, appeared from the shadow of the nearest van.
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