’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. He meditated, and began a new paragraph. ‘And it is not only a question of her identity, but a matter of her life as well. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. They put her down, and she leaped at them; she smote a helmet to the ground.
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