Voici quelques propositions
Pervenche's mother said with a kind of unconscious cheerfulness: "Oh, you know, she lives the way she lives(...) What do you want me to do? I will not force her "She repeated the absurd sentence : "she has her life and I got mine."
Clemence obtained the address of Pervenche. Apparently, she did not have the telephone anymore. Or she did not want to be called anymore.
A long weekend of September, Clémence took the train to Marseille. When she knocked at the door, a hooligan came to open. He was a large West-Indian out of shorts, with a tattoo in relief on the shoulder, or perhaps a scar. When she said that she was Pervenche's sister, he let her came in. Pervenche was in the back room, she just waked up. She referred bouffis, a ruffled Tee-shirt, dirty hair. Clemence had a hard time to recognize her, it has been nearly two years since she last saw her.
They spoke about things and others, but they did not have anything anymore to tell each other. They were not anymore on the same wavelength.
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