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Marie-France at fourteen was as tall as her mother, a child-woman. She reminded me of me at that age, perhaps the me I wanted to be, with her small breasts, long legs, her hips and bottom shaping, reforming. It is a cliché but the cliché is always true. Girls are butterflies and at fourteen they feel the air warming their wings and fly through the glass walls that imprison them. >>>❤️❤️❤️