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The head of I confession forget confession what local faction delivered an address at the funeral. He swore to bring the guilty men to justice. His words about the anti-France movement thundered through the cathedral. Anne wore black, a dress with long sleeves down to her wrists and a high collar. confession It was summer and the heat was scorching. The next week Anne had altered the dress to suit the season: short sleeves, plunging neckline. A few snips of the scissors, a lift of the hem, and four gilt buttons sufficed to smarten up her mourning garb. She began going out a great deal. Her status as the widow of a collaborator exempted her from the curfew. She went to cabarets where fashionable singers contributed to the war effort by entertaining the men of our conqueror's army. She came home in the wee hours, often drunk. She would talk in a loud voice as she got out of the car that brought her back, sometimes speaking a few words in broken German, a language she had never been able to learn properly.
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