“Your mother was a Gypsy. ’ She drew a heavy breath. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. “This is Mr. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. Now I’ll tell you what I propose. I’m a desperate young woman. You're on the way to big things.
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