of his hosts. The aroma of the khorma invaded his nostrils and vanquished the many stresses that had taken hold of him owing to the trauma of his recent experience. He soaked wedges of bread in the delicious khorma and wolfed it all down with a remarkable ease.
After rinsing his fingers, Lambton returned to his seat in the veranda, warmed by the sun and the smile of his gregarious hostess. He could hear the clang of copper utensils from across the courtyard.
“May I ask something, Mohtarma?” he began as he settled into the cushioned bench.
“Of course, of course. Ask me anything,” she replied enthusiastically, the sparkle returning to her eye.
He watched as the old lady pulled out a small sack from behind her and emptied its contents - a tiny mor...
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