It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. Would you like to borrow some of my clothes? I think we're about the same size. “Martin Chen!” Michelle shouted his name in an outburst, like an invocation. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. Reverse psychology or something, it’s like she was trying to draw him nearer by pushing him away. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road.
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