I hope you won’t think less of me, you’ve treated me so well. The individual twist was always there, even in the cleverest forgeries. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. So I ran away, blindly, knowing nothing of the world outside. He will not help them—and I told Emile so—and thus he sends them to my other grandpére, even that he knows he is dead.
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