Thomas Kinkade The Good Life paintingThomas Kinkade Sweetheart Cottage II paintingThomas Kinkade Sunrise Chapel painting
simpleton or small child. "Where else would you go to heal your disfigurements and recover your normal ? Where else but here, with us, among your own people, your own kind?"
Only when Saladin Chamcha was alone in the attic room at the very end of his strength did he answer Sufyan's rhetorical question. "I'm not your kind," he said distinctly into the night. "You're not my people. I've spent half my to get away from you."
o o o
His heart began to misbehave, to kick and stumble as if it, too, wanted to metamorphose into some new, diabolic form, to substitute the complex unpredictability of tabla improvisations for its old metronomic beat. Lying sleepless in a narrow bed, snagging his horns in bedsheets and pillowcases as he tossed and turned, he suffered the renewal of coronary eccentricity with a kind of fatalistic acceptance: if everything else, then why not this, too?
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