I forget the particulars, but I know it was something very disagreeable. Once she had asked him: "Are you my father?" He had answered: "I am. For a moment he believed this merely a new phase of the dream. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. This is your choice. “I wonder,” he said, and went off at a tangent. No one spoke to her.
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