Part of her felt like laughing insanely at how badly she had been duped. ” He meditated. " Ideas are never born; they are suggested; they are planted seeds. 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 hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course.
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