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She had just fed him with her own milk, not that Quinn knew that, or would ever know, and had joked with the other servants how greedy white men were, for her children had never fed like that, guzzling like a bear. And then the cook had pointed to the strange red mark on the brow, and she had suddenly remembered the dream she had had that night, of a perfect circle hanging in the air, like a smooth round star. Her status among the servants improved immediately and she promised to love the baby as her own, for he was special, possibly a god and god only knew what he was doing in India.
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Extracted from the novella Love Hate Jaipur by Sophie James. To comment or find out more about this work, please contact sophie on dodiealexander@yahoo.co.uk
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