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He had done it. “I am sorry. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. In those revolutionary times one had to be prepared. Where was the message? Where was Gerald? Until he came back, what was there for her to do? Eh bien, it made no sense to do anything. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. —"Stay! something occurs to me.
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