“Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. The occasion is worth a dash of the grape, lad. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. Gerald swore. I’ve never wanted to get away so much.
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