Each was draped in transparent silk, dancing, beckoning to me, teasing me. Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. Of course Nicholas was bound to give her a French name. Your father is very angry, and will not have her name mentioned in his hearing. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life.
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