Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. ‘But what way, Emile?’ ‘Your family, mademoiselle, the family of your father. Perhaps that was the reason why she enjoyed preparing suppers at the Becks. ” Lucy would always press her face into her mother’s skirts when she heard the ending, no matter how many times she heard it. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like,’ he repeated blankly. He had this thing for his twin daughters.
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