english - First, let me say that was Zebedee as she was...

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First, let me say that was Zebedee as she was beautiful and unique. But just to say, I do not know very well where to start. I can not remember how I spoke to him for the first time, or what she told me. I only remember the day I saw her on the smallsquare above the street Rossetti. Now everythinghas changed, the street where I lived is not the same, old buildings were bought, and we had people hunting for selling apartments of Germans and Englishmen. Now there are new shops that sell weird things like lace, Persian rugs or the Channel Islands, incense, scented candles. Stairs orchildren playing with loud screaming to the passages, courts, or drying sheets, all this is different, perhaps because Zobeide no longer. It disappeared, not only this but the past as if it had been erased, as if she had thrown herself from a cliff, making a hole in the sky every day, from the top of a building, for burning in the blue and the birds disappear, that it is almost never dead in the street. Zobeide was the name that I had found. His real name was Zoubida. Me, and for fun, she called me Daoud. That's how I invented the name, Zobeide. But it was a game between her and me. I've never quite knew where she came from. She had hidden in his footsteps, from the beginning. While she was mysterious. The first time I saw her was on the small square, the boys were congregated or leaving class to play ball, or boxing. It is happening without looking at anyone; she disappeared into the dark streets. I do not remember very well how she was dressed, because the memory I have of her is the picture she gave me a day when we started to show. I've never quite knew where she came from. She had hidden in his footsteps, from the beginning. While she was mysterious. The first time I saw her was on the small square, the boys were congregated or leaving class to play ball, or boxing. It is happening without looking at anyone; she disappeared into the dark streets. I do not remember very well how she was dressed, because the memory I have of her is the picture she gave me a day when we started to show. What I see is his face especially, face it at this age, the photo, the perfect arch of his eyebrows as charcoal drawing, his eyes dark and deep, shiny black hair and this where the light hangs. When I met her, she still wore their hair in one thick braid that reached to his waist. She never showed herself with her hair undone, and I imagined the black hair falling like rain upon his shoulders and his back. In the photo, she is sitting in the front row, her skirt caught between his knees after the manner of the Bohemians, his gaze directed straight towards the goal without timidity orcoquetry. She looks to defend her, the traps, perhaps. At that time it when I met her on the small square behind my house, she never wore dark glasses. It's the look that I cannot forget. In the photo, she is sitting very straight, hands resting on
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This note was uploaded on 05/14/2011 for the course FRENCH 201 taught by Professor Staff during the Spring '11 term at UCSD.

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english - First, let me say that was Zebedee as she was...

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