” Anna’s demeanour was still imperturbable, her marble pallor untinged by the slightest flush of colour. “Why on earth did you TELL me?” he cried. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. You're alone, too, child. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. “My Mom never gets a good night’s sleep.
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