They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. “How dare you? You are trying to kidnap my babies!” Clotilde demanded. You tonic my liver and you tonic my soul. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. She didn’t trust Gianfrancesco, you know, she called him a ‘bad husband’. “Thank Heaven, they are bringing the hors d’oeuvres.
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