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. ’ ‘That is what you think? Let us try!’ ‘Don’t be idiotic!’ She was backing from him, reaching through one of the slits she had carefully manufactured in her petticoat. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. . Something about this woman rather reminds me of our hostess. Suddenly she had become afraid. ” It was certain that he was not there. \"But nothing is going to happen.
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