" "Mrs. “How dare you? You are trying to kidnap my babies!” Clotilde demanded. “Fighting goes with loads of its own baggage, John. His sword done with, he took up the bludgeon; balanced it in his hand; upon the points of his fingers; and let it fall with a smash, intentionally, upon the table. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. ” He crossed himself and grinned. .
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