” She found herself trying to remember all the old tunes her mother had taught her, as they were bright as little stars. I might utter a million, and still I doubt if I could make you understand. She touched it, and her gaze lifted. “My Mom was a good lady. Gerald, I mean, not Madame Valade. ‘Oh, we was always in there, miss,’ admitted Joan, moving closer. She will cry for days and nights together. You tell me he didn't like the stuff.
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