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...Ranjit. You’re going to regret this, Ranjit. Sucking in a lung’s worth of air, he ran over the short verses in his mind. Clearing his throat, he began, his accent warbling rather tryingly at first. “Baroshekar aador meke,” the words and melody returned in flashes of light, the scent of Elizabeth’s hair like the sandalwood trees of their garden, and he struggled to tame his wavering, ...
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potc
fic
holiday

http://writing-samsara.livejournal.com/19400.html
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Published: 1 year, 6 months ago (Tue, 25 Dec 2007 19:49:10 PST); 47 Kb
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