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Every bush he passed, every rock he passed and every breath he drew into his lungs seemed to remind him of the social responsibility he was neglects By Nhamo Muchagumisa Chaora had built an altar in his heart, on which he worshipped the place where he and Flora used to meet. He allowed the evening airs to whistle in his mind, the blades of tufted grass, that would dust his feet, to sweep his heart of any polluting thoughts. The dosages of herbal aromas from summer blossoms remained a delight to his nostrils and a treat to his lungs, as if he was at the very place. He had decided to visit the place on new year's day before concluding this long stressful chapter of his life. He needed to placate the ghost of his relationship with Flora before moving on with his life. Though not dead, Flora was nowhere within the reach of his hand. Her parents had sent her Down South to nip in the bud the blossoms of their relationship.