I uttiil soup on the boil for our evening meal when Nesim said, “There’s a visitor at the door.” I replied, “Make sure the soup doesn’t burn,” handing him the spoon and giving it a couple of turns i while holding his aged hand. If you don’t show them, they’ll stand there for hours idly holding the spoon i.
When I saw Black at the door I felt nothing but pity for him. There was su expression on his face I was afraid to ask what had happened.
“Don’t bother to e inside,” I said, “I’ll be out as soon as I ge clothes.”
I dohe pink and yellow garments that I wear when I’m io Ramadaivities, wealthy bas ahy weddings, and took up my holiday satchel. “I’ll have my soup when I get back,” I said to poor Nesim.
Blad I had crossed oreet in my little Jewish neighborhood whose eys labor to expel their smoke, the way our kettles force out their steam, and I said:“Shekure’s former husband is back.”
Black fell silent and stayed that way until we left ……（内容加载失败！）
(ò﹏ò)
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