My mother really wants to meet you. ’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. She broke this promise when she told me that my mother was this Mary, and not Suzanne Valade at all. “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs. Wants me to look out for you a bit. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation.
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