Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred. Dim possibilities that she would not seem to look at even to herself gesticulated in the twilight background of her mind. ‘Nothing. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. And now let's go back to the Shovels, and finish our brandewyn and bier, Muntmeester.
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