Whenever she came upon the obliterated word and paused, her father would say: "Faith. He tried to make love to me. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. “They’re all doing great. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. ‘I know that, miss. He changed his mind however, and simply motioned to her to proceed.
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