Wood," she cried, as the staff fell from his grasp. "That's false!" cried Mrs. “Why not?” “Because you are mine. " "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. It was Sebastian’s fault for slapping her face and letting the baby out. ‘But what way, Emile?’ ‘Your family, mademoiselle, the family of your father. I can vouch for that. You speak as one injured—as though I had been the one to take your name—as though you had been the one to make sacrifices.
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