It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed. "If you get out o' that cage, I'll forgive you. 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. The Widow and her Child II.
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