After the twins were past the toddling age, Clotilde finally caught on when the children cleaved to Lucia’s breast when it was time to leave for a fortnight abroad. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. “I don’t want children, Lucy.
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