The two friends contrasted strikingly with each other. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. Whenever Ah Cum (whose normal stride was sufficient to keep him at the side of her chair) pointed out something of interest, she had to strain the cords in her neck to focus her glance upon the object. “Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. All my personal effects to be left in charge of the nearest American Consulate.
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