The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. Anna——” Again she stopped him, but this time it was not so easy. I said, ‘It is no use your telling me about this walk and pretend I’ve been told about the ball, because you haven’t. She bolted upright as she heard footsteps rumble towards the door, cursing UPS for being so damn persistent in such foul weather. She broke this promise when she told me that my mother was this Mary, and not Suzanne Valade at all.
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