“Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. "I yield to fate. “I say, daddy,” she began, and was suddenly short of breath. “That is where my cervix should be. ” She nodded. So frightful, indeed, were the ravages of this malady, to which debtors and felons were alike exposed, that its miserable victims were frequently carried out by cart-loads, and thrown into a pit in the burial-ground of Christ-church, without ceremony. She saw Lucy darkening her doorstep and stood from the recliner. There will be no more children in this house, not ever! And if anyone ever tries bringing children into our house again, I shall kill the lot of them.
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