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Big Gay Dog, Hump Skinny.


Wynette's a striking woman, with an elegant neck, beautiful lips, and a stunning profile, but one with an extreme, elongated face set beneath feline, close-set eyes. Unimaginative types who don't savor esoteric looks might be dim-witted enough to consider her a tad homely. Hell, head-on Wynette looks like a Siamese cat in a wig hat. Not that Tammy was particularly vain. As she told Alanna Nash, "my neck's too long, my nose has a hump in it, my boobs are too saggy and the kids call me 'weenie butt' 'cause I have no rear end."




Big gay dog, hump skinny.



Tammy was always taking in stray dogs--or stray people. On holidays, she'd go to the local shelter and invite some of the less fortunate back to her house and feed them. "Wynette was always for the underdog," said her childhood pal Linda Cayson. "You didn't pick on a little kid or mistreat a dog when she was around."


The huge, mouse-coloured Brahmini bull of the ward was shouldering his way through the many-coloured crowd, astolen plantain hanging out of his mouth. He headed straight forthe shop, well knowing his privileges as a sacred beast, loweredhis head, and puffed heavily along the line of baskets ere makinghis choice. Up flew Kim's hard little heel and caught him on his moist blue nose. He snorted indignantly, and walked awayacross the tram-rails, his hump quivering with rage.


Kim marked down a gaily ornamented ruth or familybullock-cart, with a broidered canopy of two domes, like a double-humpedcamel, which had just been drawn into the par. Eight men made itsretinue, and two of the eight were armed with rusty sabres - sure signsthat they followed a person of distinction, for the common folk donot bear arms. An increasing cackle of complaints, orders, andjests, and what to a European would have been bad language, camefrom behind the curtains. Here was evidently a woman used tocommand.


He rose and stalked to the cart. Kim would have given his earsto come too, but the lama did not invite him; and the few wordshe caught were in an unknown tongue, for they spoke some commonspeech of the mountains. The woman seemed to ask questions which thelama turned over in his mind before answering. Now and again heheard the singsong cadence of a Chinese quotation. It was astrange picture that Kim watched between drooped eyelids. The lama,very straight and erect, the deep folds of his yellow clothingslashed with black in the light of the parao fires precisely as aknotted tree-trunk is slashed with the shadows of the low sun, addresseda tinsel and lacquered ruth which burned like a many-colouredjewel in the same uncertain light. The patterns on the gold-worked curtains ran up and down, melting and reforming as the foldsshook and quivered to the night wind; and when the talk grew moreearnest the jewelled forefinger snapped out little sparks of lightbetween the embroideries. Behind the cart was a wall of uncertaindarkness speckled with little flames and alive with half-caught formsand faces and shadows. The voices of early evening had settled downto one soothing hum whose deepest note was the steady chumping ofthe bullocks above their chopped straw, and whose highest wasthe tinkle of a Bengali dancing-girl's sitar. Most men had eatenand pulled deep at their gurgling, grunting hookahs, which infull blast sound like bull-frogs.


'What dost thou not know of this world?' The lama squatted obediently in a little hollow of the ground not a hundredyards from the hump of the mango-trees dark against thestar-powdered sky.


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