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. For a few minutes, she appeared scarcely sensible of his presence. The practice has been common for thousands of years. My heart fails me. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. “Second class,” said some one, but first and second were all alike to her.
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