Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. It filled her with indefinable fear. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. Women want a father young enough to keep up with the children as they get older. I finally got my own set of house keys when I turned eleven. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans.
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