Courtlaw sat with folded arms. . She refrained. He filled her glass with champagne. “Read this, John. ’ Her breath tightened and she was obliged to control an inner ferocity. At this juncture, a cry burst from the child, who, nearly smothered by the weight imposed upon him, only recovered the use of his lungs as Wood altered the position of the bundle. There is no Heaven for your mother. What'll we call him—Rollo?"—ironically.
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