Michelle looked at her pathetically. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. She had lost her sense of direction, and was among unfamiliar streets. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. ” “Then perhaps,” she answered, with a new coldness in her tone, “perhaps I really do not care.
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