Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. He seemed to know a great deal about life. “He says you are frigid, Madame. Because of the Dance. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. He turned onto the long road leading to MacDowell Elementary School and pulled over in the empty lot overlooking the miniscule baseball diamond. He got out of the car and lifted her from the convertible before she could open the door. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them.
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