What she said is true. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. ‘I went to see him because I thought he ought to know about you, having already been imposed upon by our friend Gosse. It begins with that queer piccolo solo. “It’s all dirt that washes off, dear, but it’s dirt. Will you?” She thought, and it seemed to him she had never looked so self-disciplined and deliberate and beautiful. ‘Espèce de bête,’ she snarled.
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