CHAPTER XIX. And now you are acting the cuckold, because I do not wish to waste my seed in your barren womb?\" She was too devastated to answer him. Silken open robes over full tiffany petticoats in a contrasting colour were, Lucy assured him, of the very latest Parisian design, cut by the finest French tailors. If you ask me, you’ll have to beat her regularly if you don’t want to live a dog’s life. Of course Nicholas was bound to give her a French name. And―and he wanted to help you. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. By chance I went to one who had known you in Paris.
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