At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. She's headed for America. "But you've done well to trust me. One little minute with soap and water, voilà tout. Darrell. 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. And you have to thank her presence, hot-headed boy, that I do not chastise your insolence as it deserves. Flowers, theatre boxes, carriages, the “open sesame” to the whole world of pleasure. But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you.
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