And now YOU’RE on the war-path. 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. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. Capes kept obstinately stiff, and spoke between his teeth. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. Gerald frowned. “You are their friend, then?” “I am,” Courtlaw answered. But was it Faith? That is what she was this day going to find out. “But don’t you know about me?” he said at last.
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