“We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. And you are something of a heroine, too. I feel a mixture of beast and uncle. “So you found Rhea, I see. “You MUST,” he said, “because of my depression.
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