” His father interjected. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. You're rich. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian.
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