"A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. ‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday.
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