But she threw a verbal bombshell into the spinsters' camp. She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm. 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. On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. ‘You escape from your own convent, at great personal danger. Can you kill yourself?” He asked quietly. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent.
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