You get the idea. Melusine’s eyes shifted. 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. She was chic, distinguished, unusual. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. ‘I assure you it suits her as Mary would not.
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