Just at the crease of time when dusk turns into darkness, the market woman appeared. Rama had almost decided the woman wasn’t coming. Rama stood and waited for the woman to reach the gate.
“Where’s your mother?”
“Busy. Give me the money and receipts.”
“I earned my ten percent.”
“I’ll decide if you did or not,” Rama said. “Give me the papers.”
“We shouldn’t do business on the roadside. There might be robbers.” The woman smiled her toothless grin.
Rama shrugged. “Okay. We’ll go under the awning.” Rama lit a lamp and looked through the papers. She didn’t understand the figures. The woman kept smiling.
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