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... nsiderate when you speak? No matter how flawed Beatrice is, she’s still my daughter, carrying half of my blood."
"Humph!" Josephine Hawthorne sneered coldly, crossed her arms, and turned her face to the side, mocking, "What half your blood, at the end of the day, you still haven’t forgotten that wench!"
"What nonsense are you spouting!" Henry Hargrave slapped the armrest of the sofa in rage. Josephine didn’t back down either, turned her face back towards him and leaned in, squint ...
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