She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. " "Poor soul!" ejaculated her son. ” He sidled toward her, but she recoiled from him, leaving him in possession of the hearth-rug. 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. She told him the story of her parents, her marriage to Iovelli, the loss of her baby, the kidnapping after the miscarriage.
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