Every time he invoked her name, he would turn his head, utter a curse – Bah! – and spit viciously upon the ground.īefore making my first trip to England, I decided to return to my hometown and pay a visit to my elderly grandfather. Until the day he died at the age of ninety-two, he reacted to the mere mention of England, that distant western isle, like it was a foul stench at the door of a public toilet. For the people of my clan, the British Empire is a gob of phlegm, a mouthful of sputum that can never be expelled.
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