"I'll have my cot in here," said Spurlock to Ruth, "where this table is. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. In the grate were some charred fragments of a marriage certificate. For all the enervating heat, he applied himself vigorously to his tasks. 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.
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