"Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. He kept at it even on those nights when the monsoon began to break with heavy storms and he had to weight down with stones everything on his table. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. "Fire! That was what drew me to you in the beginning. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. " "But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone.
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