‘And then you will be obliged to remain in France,’ she pointed out. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. Kevin Chen, Martin’s father, was equally stately, his dark brown eyes bright with the fire of extreme intelligence. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers.
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