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Simply eating had become an intense, slow pleasure, feeling a rough crust of bread on the roof of your mouth, a crisp carrot between your teeth, a forkful of rice melting in saliva on the tongue, slithering down the throat, then the cool cleanness of the water that washed it all away, the quiet sense of repletion. Sitting silently at table with the others was also an intense pleasure, watching their silent faces as they ate, watching their concentration. Breathing the evening air was beautiful.

