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You will love this, he says, pointing to something on the wine list while the waiter hovers. South Africa, I have learned today while touring some conference facilities, is one of the primary tourism markets for Mauritius. I told him, Harry, I said, you are eighty-six years old, you don’t have to personally supervise things at the meat-packing plant any more. But he insisted — insisted — on doing it all himself, and then, well, he slipped and fell into a vat of offal…I will choke, I will wipe a tear. This is a hilarious double entendre that I have led him into, because I am clever like that.

But I go underwater anyway because I do not want Sebastian to be any more annoyed.

By Jean Hannah Edelstein I am waiting for someone to speak to me.

This is my fourth in a series of evenings of waiting, sitting at a dining table that is in the middle of a dining room that is on a platform in the middle of a swimming pool that is in the middle of a six star resort that is in the middle of the southeast coast of Mauritius. It’s not often that one sees a woman in her twenties dining on her own in a six star resort on the southeast coast of Mauritius. My husband — well, my husband passed away a couple of months ago.

Michael Dixon has been tagged in an album, Facebook tells me.

I have never been snorkelling before, I say to Sebastian.

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