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In The Midst Of Sickness
Alexander McCall Smith
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HE IS STANDING BEFORE ME, THIS MAN WHOM I barely know, the employee of somebody I have met. It is a cold day—cold, at least, by the standards of Botswana, although the sky is clear and the air is bathed in sunlight.
"How are you now, Rra?"
My question makes him shake his head. "I am not well. I cannot eat. I am weak, weak."
There is silence. What is there to be said? The gulf between us seems as wide as the very Kalahari: I am a visitor from the impossibly rich West, somewhere far away, in . . . [Full Text of this Article] |
Optimism, Then Disaster And Heartbreak
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Not Turning Away From Suffering
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