’ Melusine bit her lip on a sharp retort. After the twins were past the toddling age, Clotilde finally caught on when the children cleaved to Lucia’s breast when it was time to leave for a fortnight abroad. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. Just. I was grateful. He’s waiting. Youth finds it pleasant sometimes to be melancholy. All right! I’m off. Can't I make you understand? Perhaps it sounds cruel to you; but we women often have to be cruel defensively. She can't last long. She would never, never go back. It was finished by the end of that year, each character having asserted itself pronouncedly in my imagination.
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