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. Will you lend me the money for my ticket to London?” “With all the pleasure in the world,” he answered heartily. Wood could give him no further information respecting Sir Rowland Trenchard than what he had obtained from Kneebone; but begged him to defer the further consideration of the line of conduct he meant to pursue until the morrow, when he hoped to have a plan to lay before him, of which he would approve. ‘I’m not going to arrest you, young Jack—yet. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. I will confide it to Father Spencer, who will acquaint you with it when I am no more. "Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow.
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