She realized that no man had ever placed a mantle of respect upon her as Sebastian did; respect for more than just her pretty face and her now lost ability to bear children. "It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. Nor can we. And she seemed always to keep one eye on Ann Veronica’s dress. ’ ‘Nonsense. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore.
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