She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. She had been quite convinced that an engagement with him and at last a marriage had exactly that quality of compromise which distinguishes the ways of the wise. And so —’ ‘And so she was able to become my—’ Melusine did not say it, for wet-nurse no longer seemed appropriate. 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. ‘Monstrously unfair of you, Hilary. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. "Is my house to be made a receptacle for all your natural children, Sir? Answer me that.
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