"Stop thief!" clamoured the rabble behind. "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 do not try. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. But sadly, at Lullingstone we are too far off the coast to be of use.
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