"On my soul, yes," rejoined Jonathan. But she did not listen long; she wanted to talk. ‘Don’t put me at the necessity of marrying the abominable little wretch. “How dare you? You are trying to kidnap my babies!” Clotilde demanded. "Brother," cried Lady Trafford, her eye blazing with unnatural light, and her cheek suffused with a crimson stain: "Brother," she cried, lifting her thin fingers towards Heaven, "as God shall judge me, I was wedded to that murdered man!" "A lie!" ejaculated Sir Rowland, furiously; "a black, and damning lie!" "It is the truth," replied his sister, falling backwards upon the couch.
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