For hats that fail and hats that flare; Toppers their universal wear; A man scores always, everywhere. Papa has sent me to be religieuse. I want to shout! I want to sing! I am glad! I am glad to be alive because you are alive! I am glad to be a woman because you are a man! I am glad! I am glad! I am glad! I thank God for life and you. I came to see you on my own account. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. okay.
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