‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. "First take the child," cried Darrell, holding up the infant, and clinging to the oar with a dying effort. "I'm surprised you've not asked that question before, Sir Rowland. Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin. "That's fine," said O'Higgins. .
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