Then a light seemed to break in upon him. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. And I’m off to America, and if my steamer goes to the bottom of the Atlantic I’ll thank the Lord for it. To write under a pseudonym!—to be forced to disown his children! He could not write under his own name, enjoy the fruits of fame should these tales prove successful. In regard to yourself, you've had a very narrow escape. Go, and let him in. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. Annabel had been here then.
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