“Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. “What’s odd?” “Oh, everything!” She shivered, and went to the fire and poked it. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. "Oh! Sir, if you'd seen her as I've seen her, you'd not wish her a continuance of misery.
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