" With these words, he tore the mantle from Wood's back, and, perceiving the child, endeavoured to seize it. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. " "Oh!" exclaimed the widow, covering her face with her hands. ” “You have no right at all,” she answered. But it sounds too real to be imagined.
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