My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety. Suppose he stopped all her allowance, made it imperative that she should either stay ineffectually resentful at home or earn a living for herself at once. But all of that was forgotten. “You will be so good as to leave us your correct name and address, mademoiselle,” he said curtly. ‘Ah, the tragedy. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep.
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