Khalid Mohamed

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low moan from the direction of the main hut was heard, the first sound in three days from that poor suffering woman. Her voice rose as she keened in a high tone, a lonely, lost sound; terrible to hear. It was almost as if the boy was dead, not just lost. The fearful premonition of doom that only a mother, closely connected as she is to the child, can sense, was in the air.
The River and the Source
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