![]() "Just a minute! Are you seeking Mistry Law?" she called as he rushed across the street.įeeling perplexed, Perveen rapped on the door, which was opened moments later by Mustafa, the longtime butler in charge of Mistry House. Calcutta: the city that would always remind her of Cyrus.Īs Perveen looked up, her alarm must have revealed itself. ![]() The only place men wore British shoes and stockings with their dhotis was Calcutta, about twelve hundred miles away. His thin legs were covered by black stockings, and his feet were laced into scuffed black leather brogues. But when Perveen glanced down, she was disconcerted to see the man wasn't poor at all. ![]() The idea of a woman solicitor was a shock to many. Although the old wall had been taken down, the district was still a fortress of law and banking, with most openings between nine and ten.Īssuming the man was a sad-sack client, Perveen glanced down, not wanting him to feel overly scrutinized. The firm was located in Fort, Bombay's first settlement. ![]() His small, squinting eyes were tired, and he exuded a rank odor of sweat mixed with betel nut.Ī visitor to Mistry Law this early was rare. The unshaven, middle-aged man appeared as if he'd slept for several days and nights in his broadcloth shirt and the grimy cotton dhoti that hung in a thousand creases from his waist to his ankles. Perveen had come upon him half-hidden in the portico entrance to Mistry House. ![]() On the morning Perveen saw the stranger, they'd almost collided. ![]()
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