"Ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter, beginning 'dearest Aliva,'—that's your mother's name, Thames. "It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. “But I am your husband,” he said.
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