They shall hear of me no more. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. "Can't!" repeated his mother. But this calm was more awful than the previous roaring of the blast. What is it? Good God!” An unhappy little smile parted her lips. "Oh, God! would you take him from me?— would you murder him?" "His father's name?—and he is free," rejoined Rowland, holding her arms. "I alone am to blame. He would be so disappointed.
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