The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. I wanted something alive. It is not the woman who speaks there. White. He was detained. “Michelle, I think that you are the victim of an extremely overactive imagination. They are their mother’s sons. He remained listening attentively. She was acquiring truths, but in a series of shocks rather than by the process of analysis.
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