‘You think my father would not have married Suzanne if he had known? Me, I do not agree. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. “Mine is a primitive and unstudied manner.
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