She turned her head to each side. ‘What, and miss getting myself murdered?’ ‘She said she wouldn’t murder you. 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. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. I’m damaged goods. “I wish he had,” she said. The beautiful gowns and the flashing bare shoulders and arms of the women had disturbed and distressed her. “Looooo-ceeeeee!!” He yelled, sounding like Desi Arnaz.
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