” 174 < 21 > THANKSGIVING She padded softly up the old stairs, exhausted and elated. How could you draw the curtain aside which hides the great and holy places of life—you, who have never loved?” “You have become French to the core,” she murmured. And think things out. So I've grown hard—outside. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. “Look here,” he said, “I brought you here to make love to you. ‘Poor things.
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