A smile trembled at the corners of her mouth as she recalled Gerald’s ridiculous upbraiding of his own reflection in the mirror. So Mrs. 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. Capes bore a face of infinite perplexity. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. For this three weeks had been the hardest of her life. It wouldn't do to say that she was from the hospital. She had never heard anything so unholy. There was Major Price—you must recollect him, Sir Rowland,—he stumbled as he was getting out of his chair at that very gate. To this day he and every one else thinks that he married Anna.
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