Even to my own brother—if I had one—I could not tell everything, and you, although you are so kind, you are almost a stranger, aren’t you?” “No, no!” he protested. Perhaps the Parisian atmosphere had affected him. I do not understand why you and your sister should not see more of one another. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. . "My old coco is disintegrating.
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