She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. Clotilde flew into a rage, crying, “How dare you lay claim to my children! I am their mother! This is a Godless house!” She accused. I would do anything—I would give anything to make you mine. ‘I have said that I will tell you nothing of this soi-disant Valade. Sir John looked about him, and somehow the laugh died away.
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