The brown leather wallet

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A fat, brown leather wallet, It’s lines bulging out. It was in my hands but I had not stolen it because I am not a habitual thief. I did not pick it out from the abyss of some one’;s cavernous pocket. I cannot dare it. Nonetheless I got it and suffered it. I got it in a very normal situation but with quite an abnormal chance, one in a million. It is quite a story as to how I got this wallet and more than an epic as to how I, suffered keeping it and a classic when I rummaged its contents to finally lose it. My readers can not realize what peace descended upon me after I got rid of that accursed wallet. I am coming to this unprecedented event in my life, so perplexing in the beginning and equally sad in the end.

The younger sister of my wife and my sister-in-law had sent a wire informing  that she  was reaching that day in mid noon by a  passenger train journeying alone for 32 hours and expected that her dear brother-in-law would not mind the to await her on the railway platform  and escort her to her dear sister. The day she was to reach here was a holiday, a very valuable off day for me unlike the one in the govt. offices where there seems to be never a working day. One can imagine my anger and disgust with this cruel dame who was bent upon slaughtering me in the blistering heat of the summer sun and killing whatever peace and joy I could secure on that day of inactivity. Seething with rage at her audacity, I decided not to go to the station but my Wife was equally uncompromising on the issue. I was left with no choice but to go to escort that bundle of woe or to take the risk of my not so old wife going alone with every chance of missing the train or her own house, leaving me to look after the poor, motherless, not so adult children. In what a precarious condition I was put by that little scoundrel. However, I found discretion better than velour and reluctantly left for the station that day at the right time.


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