“A girl needs her mother most exactly when she thinks she doesn’t. I tried to have it out with him, but he wouldn’t have it out. John’s father added cheerfully, “So, do you play any violin?” She balked at the stereotype, but admitted, “Yes, I play violin. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. She married my Dad in a small ceremony down at City Hall. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue.
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