And she was about as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller. I spoke a thought aloud. E. . Non. Clotilde flew into a rage, crying, “How dare you lay claim to my children! I am their mother! This is a Godless house!” She accused. She saw Lucy darkening her doorstep and stood from the recliner. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. ‘You are wise, Marthe.
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