The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. She found her foster father and Mike still awake, playing high stakes UNO at the dimly lit kitchen table. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. ’ She stopped, her lips tightening. ” “How?” “Well—a little clumsily. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand.
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