She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. I stole away and walked to the railway station. “How dare you? You are trying to kidnap my babies!” Clotilde demanded. She had a political cartoon from 1785 that showed a tall man in a cape, a caricature of a French politico that looked suspiciously like him. Capes bore a face of infinite perplexity. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man.
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