"It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. “Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. " "I'll take my chance," replied Jonathan, with a sinister smile.
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