His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. 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. Fool that I was to marry for beauty! I ought to have remembered that a fair woman and a slashed gown always find some nail in the way. Put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit.
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