” He glanced over at her cockeyed, and then returned his gaze to the road. His literary instincts began to stir. To-morrow I am going to Paris. It seems to me very silly. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. The elastic spirits of youth resumed their sway; and, before the coach stopped, his tears had ceased to flow. There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors. He was indeed still in the throes of his bewilderment.
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