She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. Even as a child she observed how men were haunted 18 by the presence of her mother. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. “Quite different. She felt that she was not alone. She had no idea what she should do. They left the castle that day for another, packing with them the leftovers of the troupe that followed them from place to place, never asking about the occasional disappearance of one of its unlucky members.
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