Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. True to her nature, Cathy had already offered John snacks and drinks of water twice by the time Lucy bounded down the stairs at 3:58. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. "Go!" said Lady Trafford; "it is my last request. She could not move.
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