And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. Give me your hand. I've already told you I'm about to take a long journey, and it's more than probable I shall never return. As for my past, Michelle, and Michael’s, it is a book of woeful chapters better left unread. F.
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