Michelle stood perplexed. "An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested. She had had to do away with many a leering foster father since she had started frequenting foster homes in the middle of the century. She was quivering with the sense of Capes at her side and glowing with heroic love; it seemed to her that if they put their hands jointly against the Alps and pushed they would be able to push them aside. “These clothes are French, and I’m sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow. A granddaughter of mine!’ The idiocy of this notion stuck in his craw and he could think of nothing else for a moment.
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