" "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. The eminent painter had handsome, expressive features, an aquiline nose, and a good deal of dignity in his manner. Terrific shouts were raised by the rabble, who threatened to tear Wild in pieces if he showed himself. Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. “Often,” he repeated, a little heavily. She taught him how to sail a proa, how to hack open a milk-coconut, how to relish bamboo sprouts. “I shall have to give up biology, anyhow. Got detained in the City, and——” Then he met the fixed, breathless gaze of those wonderful eyes from the other side of the table, and he, too, broke off in the middle of his sentence. “What can you do?” she asked.
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