(“Good job. If only this child were his: what good times they would have together! The thought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart. ‘Here we go again. ” 209 Clotilde was no fool. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead.
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