She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. Michelle looked at their reflections in the wall mirror. ‘We will converse in your own tongue,’ he said in French as he led her away. Hastily ascending these steps, Jack found the door, as he anticipated, locked. He dared not go on. I was at work at it yesterday and the day before.
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