‘Oh, peste. Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily. There were shadows under his eyes. ‘I’ve never found a woman who did not drive me into a frenzy of boredom. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. Only she is not Madame Valade at all. The way—the way we are led on! We are taught to believe we are free in the world, to think we are queens.
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