"Stand aside, Tom," commanded Kneebone. She tended the twins while the Clotilde was in Sebastian’s private chambers, a place she gave a wide berth. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold.
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