“Has she ever thought of buying a pair of foam earplugs?” Lucy asked. “I suppose you’ll come to the point soon—if there is one. They were filthy after the burial. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Nothing was given away, and no one came so rich to the stall as to command all that it had to offer.
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