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I would not go out at all, and I thanked her. It was much easier to write sweet things to her than to Robert. When I was alone I could not eat. Véronique came in to try and persuade me. I looked so very pale, she said, she feared I had taken cold. She was in one of her "old-mother" moods, when she drops the third person sometimes, and calls me "mon enfant."
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