A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. These were the Master's body-guard. ‘You wish to die?’ ‘Not in the least. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. "It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me.
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