CHAPTER VIII. Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. Rhea writhed and scuttled about like a crab. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. Darrell stopped, and drew his sword. He would never recognize me now. Surely she could ignore him. He stopped in mid-sentence, and Ann Veronica opened the door for her aunt.
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