‘Yes, for there were too many females for the vicomte to make me a dowry. Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. ” He said. “It—it—must come,” she faltered. " "You may see the marks on the child yourself, if you choose, Sir," urged the widow. “I will not rob you of your coffee, most dutiful of sisters!” she exclaimed. CHAPTER XI.
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