"First take the child," cried Darrell, holding up the infant, and clinging to the oar with a dying effort. ‘Charvill?’ uttered Roding frowningly. She found pieces of it on the blacktop near the green dumpster, amazingly small pieces considering the fabric’s original heft. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. If it wasn’t for the fear that after all—but we won’t think of that. We shall never have an heir, you and I! My family is crumbling; all of my brothers are dead.
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