It was Sebastian’s fault for slapping her face and letting the baby out. The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist. Assured, if he remained much longer where he was, he would inevitably perish, Wood recommended himself to the protection of Heaven, and began his perilous course. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. ’ She eyed him. Take it, if I die.
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