Her head snapped back as he grabbed her by the hair. Once she had asked him: "Are you my father?" He had answered: "I am. If it wasn’t for the fear that after all—but we won’t think of that. ” They left the restaurant just as the rain slowed to a dull trickle, the fury of the storm exhausted, having left mirror puddles in its wake. ‘Parbleu, I hope that I do not have many more times to come in this way to the house,’ she muttered fretfully. Refused admittance, they broke open the door. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap.
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