She uttered a little ejaculative note of joy and rushed to the bed. My feelings overpower me. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. It’s no good. " "You may see the marks on the child yourself, if you choose, Sir," urged the widow. The Iron Bar 397 XVIII.
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