" "True," replied the widow, upon whom all the terrible recollections of the day before crowded, "I know it isn't. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. "Sir Rowland, I salute you as your nephew. Of late, however, his plotting had assumed a more dark and dangerous complexion. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. Never in this world! Let the hotel people take care of him; it's their affair.
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