“How dare you? You are trying to kidnap my babies!” Clotilde demanded. She felt she must suffocate if these men did not put her down, and for a time they would not put her down. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. Her favor was sought beyond all women’s favors.
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