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| rape videos, review, mom mature son gallery, incredible, mother son, god, muslim, satan, confession, essay, slut wife, selected, | In winter he bottled his wine in the cellar; he went to Mass on Sundays and took Communion, a reflex commentary left over from his childhood. When he got up in the morning he said, "How are you?" and didn't wait to hear the answer. He lived in a world of his own, what world you couldn't really be sure, double-locked behind an invisible door: it was a tenuous veil but enough to make him inaccessible. When I sometimes asked, as a child, "What are you commentary thinking about, Papa?" he would say, "I was just falling asleep," or commentary "The roses are very red this year." Early in the evening on Christmas and New Year's Day, after sitting at the table all afternoon and pretending to join in the conversation, he would suddenly get up and say he was going to make onion soup, another reflex, almost an instinct, like taking Communion but no doubt performed with more sincerity, because he flung himself into it wholeheartedly, browning onions, adding water and white wine, toasting bread, grating cheese-Comté rather than Gruy?re, |
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| She married him in haste to get out of the parental line of fire. On the day when that photo was taken she incredible was visiting, which was unusual. It was Easter time, I think, but she left that same evening. We hardly ever saw her, and incredible spent the war without her. When the national territory was cut in two, she didn't mind: a bold demarcation line traced incredible across the map of France separated her from us, a border like a cordon sanitaire. Myself, I stayed within range of my mother. I was rather a docile character. My father was away for the whole of the war, first at the front, then as a prisoner in Germany, near Idar-Oberstein. Would our war have been different if my father hadn't been a prisoner? You can't remake history, you have to take the world as it is with all the dead on its battlefields, the emigrations, famines, purges, and exterminations. My father wasn't entirely with us even before the war. He went to work, he came home, he did some gardening on Sundays and summer evenings. |
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