But what a monster was this Emile. Clarice loved babies as much as Lucia did and chattered about them day and night. She had asked about that already, and her father had replied, evasively: “We’ll have to see about that, little Vee; we’ll have to see about that. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. S. ” “Thanks to me,” he repeated, puzzled.
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