She crawled underneath the soft white sheets, reclining and pulling the blankets up to her chin. I love everything to-day, and all of you, but I love this, this—this innocence upon us most of all. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. T’weren’t fitting, we knew that. 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.
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