She is called Madame Ibstock, you understand. Always as black and bitter as gall. I want her to get forward, to set her among people who'll understand what to do with her. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. His voice when he spoke was almost fiercely assertive, but there was an undernote of nervousness. You have a daughter, no? Madame Ibstock, I think.
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