“No. "It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. She was my first love. "I have killed her," cried Jack. Upon this young fellow's face there were no wrinkles, only shadows, in the hollows of the cheeks and under the eyes. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her.
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