It was all highly intriguing. ‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. Once she had asked him: "Are you my father?" He had answered: "I am. By instinct. Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke.
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