144 I think he heard about the backpack and the spitballs finally. “To begin with, I was—I was in the divorce court. Slipshod; follow me. ‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. She hid behind a mirage of piety, just as I do. But if she smiled at all it was with her eyes. Few men could have done as much.
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