She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. There were no mourners. "Your sympathy is being wasted. “How dare you? You are trying to kidnap my babies!” Clotilde demanded. And what will they do, and where will they go?" "With me—the both of them. She gathered stones to place upon the makeshift grave. But perhaps you don't know; there was nothing in the pockets. The doctor turned quickly and made for the door, which he opened and shut gently because he was assured that Ruth was listening across the hall for any sign of violence. " He departed, musing.
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