Beneath an old ebony table were two long carved oak chests. I lifted the lid of one, and at the top was a once-white surplice covered with dust, and beneath was a mass of tracts — Commonwealth Quartos, unbound — a prey to worms and decay.
Mother very rightly resented the slightest hint of condescension. She considered that the exclusiveness of Peter's circle was due not to its distinction, but to the fact that it was an inner Babylon of prodigality and whoredom,[…].
When I was about halfway through the hatch, the engine went “clickity, clickity, clickity, and boom,” igniting the gasoline vapors in the compartment into a huge fireball.
Ali took a cup of tea, and Wajahat stopped conversation till the waiter left and then continued, “We can also take arms and fight for our Azadi. We should prove that we are not cowards. We can also fight for our cause, for our rights.”
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