Lucy propped Michelle against a thick, knobby tree stump. After all, she was a consummate actress. "It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. Lucy could sense her mental resolution to nip Michelle’s burgeoning obsession with the occult in the bud. ‘Do you know, Mademoiselle Charvill, you are a thought too clever for your own good.
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