Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. I’m convinced that much of Russell’s investigations are on wrong lines, unsound lines. She could not see what occurred, though she guessed it; but she saw Jonathan's devilish triumphing glance, and read in it,—"Your son has committed a robbery—here—in these holy walls—he is mine—mine for ever!" She uttered a loud scream, and fainted.
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