There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. Your poor cheeks are quite sunken and hollow. 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. A moment more and he would have been crushed beneath the ponderous board, when a slight but strong arm arrested its descent. Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him.
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