"It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. Michelle was in sight, Lucy could hear her voice, high in the crowd, and saw her blond head bobbing among a sea of faces. Of course this thing was absolutely impossible. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. I can’t. Ruth loved him.
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