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Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging. "I don't understand you, gentlemen," stammered he, at length. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. I believed that our marriage was genuine. But—he was cleverer than any of you. Besides, my husband has shares in Sir John’s company. She turned to Lucilla, a plea in her face.
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