Wood, who had worked herself into a passion; "and, I'll warrant 'em, the boldest robber among 'em shall repent it, if he comes across me. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak.
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