“Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. "I can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!" "I'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper from her grasp. ‘All this gadding about. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. " CHAPTER VI.
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