Rama stamped her feet in front of Judith Andrew’s home. Satisfied most of the spring mud was knocked off her boots, Rama used the knocker. Judith answered the door herself.
“Come in, my dear,” she said walking back into the drawing room. “The postman was here,” she said over her shoulder. “Your letters are on the side table. You have a few from England. And, of course, from all over America. The work goes very well. Ramabai Circles are springing up everywhere, even in California.”
Wherever that is. Rama hung up her coat, exchanged her boots for house slippers, and followed Judith. Rama flipped through the letters from England. There it is. News from Ajibai. Rama scanned the cramped writing, then sat abruptly on the edge of the sofa. My baby’s sick. Rama felt tears spring up and wiped her eyes before they fell.
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