My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. Then I cross-checked it with the name Alberti. She lost it in the Mint. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. She delighted in frustrating him. “You’ll get me to allude to it, but you’d have to torture me to admit it.
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