Another long interval elapsed. I thought it would be magnificent to have a great house in Paris, and more money than any other woman. My son wanted to marry a woman of thirty in a tobacconist’s shop. The same overly curly pubic hair, which she now saw was trying to protrude from the sides of her bikini underwear. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. Mrs. I think not. Of course, at home there would have been questions. She asked no further questions for the moment.
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