What does that strange, contorted language, cryptic and hideous, even mean? She’s able to pick out a letter here and there—some letters look more like numbers than letters, to be honest—but never a whole word. Even though she can’t make out what it says she feels insulted. It’s a bit like when she hears foreigners talking on the street. Not the tourists who come to admire the neighborhood and then go away, but the others who work at the market stalls and have children and talk among themselves. The incomprehensible writing strikes her as an affront even though it’s silent. It feels
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