” “Why did you keep her all of these years? What good can it do?” “She created me, Lucia. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. I don't care how lonesome it is. She shook her head, almost breaking a smile. And as she was yet waiting for her tea to come she saw this man again.
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