Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at the side of the bed. ‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. He looked eager and flushed and troubled. You know the sort of thing. He knew she had been weeping. ‘Signed by a priest at Le Havre, so it must be true. The dizziness made the trees sickening, the smell of Michelle’s perfume soapy and revolting. “Until a girl can go away as a son does and earn her independent income, she’s still on a string.
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