‘I do not know your Gérard. Lassitude?” “I suppose so. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. I do not blame you for the act. ” Michelle stubbed out her cigarette with her foot and sauntered back to the cafeteria. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy.
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