She colored faintly. ‘You are not the only one to seek them out,’ he said. They are not your children, they never were. "For me—his master, Mr. “But how can you?” asked Constance. 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. "I read those stories. You cannot refuse me this. She nursed at his neck as he peacefully slumbered through being killed. She says she will have to, though she does not wish to.
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