“How dare you? You are trying to kidnap my babies!” Clotilde demanded. I daresay you have the whole thing wrong, Gerald. “Eight, Cavendish Square. I ought never to have thought of it. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. He called a waiter. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand. ‘To find what?’ demanded Gerald. It opened and a nun’s head popped out.
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