‘And I trust you will pardon my inadequacies. The buboes broke and God took Lucia's mother. “How dare you? You are trying to kidnap my babies!” Clotilde demanded. She looked at the suitcase sadly and stashed it underneath her bed. After all, you may easily come to fetch Mrs Ibstock when you need her. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery.
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