Instead, God had sent her Sebastianus, a man who had sold his soul to the Devil to gain eternal life, or perhaps he was even the Devil himself. This done, she waited at the side of the bed; but he gave no sign that he was conscious of her nearness. Her mouth dry, she made her feet walk on, not daring to utter a word. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. I don’t know why that should be so acutely humiliating.
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