” He said to her, quite unsure of whether or not he was dreaming. There were always parrots and parrakeets screaming in the fruit groves. Her mother missed writing for a week, and then she wrote in an unusual key. Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth.
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