She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon. “You permitted me then to call you my friend. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. He did not particularly care. That is why I came to London. Sister Angelina shook her head as if to say that such ignorance was beyond her. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories.
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