‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. She asked no further questions for the moment. The effects of the heroin wore off slowly. He began to tell me something—and stopped. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. I’ll walk over there once I change clothes. Life is two things, that’s how I see it; two things mixed and muddled up together.
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