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 thought you wanted to have a talk to me,” she said. She crushed the letter in her hand. "I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag. "And now, farewell, Mr. Kneebone and his Friends. Earles said persuasively.
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