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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. We shall have a reg'lar squall afore we gets across. Where the robber may cheer His spirit with beer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! III. Anna stood looking down upon her sister with grave perturbed face. "And someday let him care for me!" She sprang up, alarmed.
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