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But she veiled her feelings. Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. Lucy asked Michelle if “Pfister” kept the bras and panties of misfits for their trophy value, or perhaps sold them on the black market to perverted old men. There he paused again, half turning his back and pretending to look for someone among the soldiers on the benches. Now, no more questions, or I shall be forced to leave the room. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. I rather want them.
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