The man was mad to marry me. “He was no help to the police, just babbled on about how he was going to marry your Mom and how he was in love with her, that they he had lost his true love, Michelle insisted on repeating that to me, ‘He lost his true love. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. “Well?” “You and all the rest of them are always lamenting that I do not marry. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. .
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