. “There wasn’t. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him. To-night all London believes that he was your husband. "It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. Wild," replied the other, "a little shaken, that's all.
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