“Martin Chen!” Michelle shouted his name in an outburst, like an invocation. "Is my house to be made a receptacle for all your natural children, Sir? Answer me that. She leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story. The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church. Nor can we. His hot juices coursed into her in quick bursts. She thought of the smiles she would gather when she brought forth his first grandson.
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