The thought of the picture but added to her despondency. “Besides, it is not so. He strangled the infant, which slipped out of his hands and screamed. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. I've opened the case of books. "It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. ‘You have rifled his papers.
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