“I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. When the disillusion comes, when the fairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn't mind. But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible.
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