FIFTY

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She could not even tell a hibiscus from a rose. And her nose resembled an overturned bucket.

She sounded like sheep whenever she sang at the well while the children dug their toes in the sand, clumps mingling with their excitement.

He watched her breasts rise and fall, a hypnotic rhythm that annoyed him.

‘But her nose’, he said to himself.

‘What will I tell my friends?’

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