" "Don't be angry with me, Sir," cried the widow, sobbing bitterly, "pray don't. Mrs. ’ With pretty imperiousness, she gestured to the bed beside her. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. " "You may see the marks on the child yourself, if you choose, Sir," urged the widow. Conscience drove him to this side of the world, to this bed. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones.
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