“Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. Stanley, and paused. “Good, I’m so glad, Lucy. " "Loved me! You!" "I loved you," continued Jonathan, "and struck by your appearance, which seemed above your station, inquired your history, and found you had been stolen by a gipsy in Lancashire. "It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me.
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