I love you calling me Gérard and idiot, and I love you when you threaten me with every weapon under the sun, and—’ ‘Pah!’ interrupted Melusine, scorn in her voice. She swallowed hard. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. Somehow I haven’t connected the idea with you. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now.
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