The Two Hearts Of Kwasi Boachi: A Novel - Plot & Excerpts
I would do well to discharge him. He has taken it into his head that it is too tiring for me to spend all my time writing. He says I do not look well, which is a bit rich coming from a man with a hangdog look like his. If I do indeed have a tormented air at times it is only because he inspires it. He keeps disturbing me throughout the day—and now that I have been working late also during the night—with petty excuses. “Does the Prince wish for this, shall I bring the Prince that?” If I say no he persists. If I say yes he rebukes me for not having made my request earlier. I send him away. I threaten him with punishment if he dares to show his face once more, but within the next hour there he is, padding around me again. “Not too hot? Not too cold? Have some more soda water!” Sometimes he spends hours in the kitchen in the middle of the night making snacks and squeezing the juice out of fruits, only to have a pretext to intrude yet again. I’ll be damned if he isn’t jealous of my dedication to my pen.
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