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 shook her head. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. "When a man reaches the lowest scale through drink, we call him a beachcomber. But those days are over—quite over. My son wanted to marry a woman of thirty in a tobacconist’s shop.
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