Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. ‘And you!’ shrieked Melusine. She chose to hold her nose. 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. Neither you nor your mother shall escape me. It is perfectly intrusive of me, and I quite see that you must be sick to death of running into such an interfering busybody all the time.
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