It comforts him when he is most forlorn. ‘But this Englishwoman,’ asked the man Valade, his puzzlement plain to see, ‘who was she?’ The question irritated Charvill. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. Or I should have made love to you long ago. Me, you may have. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. You tried bravely enough to hide your preference, to look at us all with the same eyes, to speak to us in the same tone.
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