She looked at her flattened belly. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. As for my past, Michelle, and Michael’s, it is a book of woeful chapters better left unread.
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