If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat. Pole coolies came joggling along with bobbing blocks of jade—white jade, splashed and veined with translucent emerald green. A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her. “You killed them, didn’t you?” He said. 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 do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. All we have to apprehend is a rescue.
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