When was the last time you cleaned the tatami? I hoovered in there a few weeks ago, I said, avoiding her gaze. I decided not to pin myself down to an exact date. You can clean tatami? I risked another glance at her face. Her eyes had narrowed to mere slashes of white. Always seem to happen to me. Never terribly good, never calamitously bad, but often, and with an almost reassuring regularity. Here is a classic example. When I was living in.

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