Behind every one of these myriad fronts she passed there must be a career or careers. 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. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. This individual apparently met with some impediment to his further progress; for he had not proceeded many steps when he turned suddenly about, and darted up the passage in which Wood stood.
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