She glanced at the soft-ticking clock with the exposed brass pendulum upon the white marble mantel, and made a rapid calculation. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. Daughters were not like sons. They had chosen to deliberately and wickedly insult a lady who had done her best to entertain them for many weeks. Don't you remember? There were four of us, and we went touring in the city. Happy Birthday, then.
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