When young we were very poor. Some nights we would have to go to sleep very hungry. That is when I would tell stories of taps flowing with drink, hills of cakes, . . . Then I would hear them. . . the sound of siblings sleeping soundly.
I didn't know if they grew weary of listening, boredom . . , or excitement. . ., till the next time they would plead with me, for another story.
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