“Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. On the floor, underneath the sixth row desks, was an ashtray with a small black dot of blood on its blunt round corner.
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