’ Gerald drew his breath in sharply as Lord Charvill took a step towards his granddaughter, thrusting out his head. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. "Mother—dear mother! Once again, I beseech you to listen to me. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave.
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