But I am here. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. Generations had been born and died in between the times she had gotten laid. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. I think that there is no better friend for a girl than a man rather older than herself. You make a game with me, imbecile.
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