Inside was an old steamer trunk, some picture frames stacked one atopthe other and a pile of old newspapers.She picked through the framed pictures and... stopped when she came to afaded photograph of a beautiful young woman with flowing red locks,alabaster skin and full red lips. She was dressed in a flowing whitesilk gown that couldn't quite disguise the slim figure and buxom breastsconcealed beneath it. She was wearing white stockings and shoes. Thepicture was timeless; it could have been. In the evening I had a crisis: I knew I couldn’t reveal it to Chloé! I just couldn’t. It was useless: a weird, freak medical condition. I lurched back into hating it.I made myself call Henri, at least, and he put me onto Martine, who told me to come round.So I went round to their apartment and they sat me at their kitchen table, took a hand each, joined their own to make a circle, and gave me a weird coaches’ pep talk.“You have to believe!” they said, one after the other and together, “BELIEVE. But talking to them would waste a lot of time, you think. Your scarred-and-swollen arm pumps the iron in your hand in steady, ruthless bounds, a simple act that puts your abnormal strength and pain resistance on full display. Of course it hurts; your muscles ache and sting often, but you nourish your body well and expect exemplary results, so you haven't missed a workout in six years of grueling routine. The stronger you are, the easier you will be on yourself, you think...Your father wanted. "I'll expose you for the scheming little strumpet that you are!" he wheezed but his eyes remained transfixed on her full breasts and long legs.Donna stood up and walked over to the mahogany desk and perched herself on the edge facing Lucien, her legs wide open. She crushed her cigarette out in the crystal ashtray. Her perfume engulfed him and he sincerely believed he could smell her sex."Now look here daddy; there's no reason we can't make this an amicable union; your son needs a strong woman.