I am a thing to be used. “How dare you? You are trying to kidnap my babies!” Clotilde demanded. “Michelle said that your mom was a suspect because she ran away, visited some boyfriend of hers and then ran off into the night. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. The delay was only momentary. ‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. To-morrow I shall come and talk to you again—of other things. His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day.
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