Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. She pulled at his tee shirt again, wishing to feel his naked chest upon hers. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. I believe that the common report was that you and your sister had come to Paris to study painting. I said to myself, ‘this will come.
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