It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. An uncomfortable silence followed. She could not see what occurred, though she guessed it; but she saw Jonathan's devilish triumphing glance, and read in it,—"Your son has committed a robbery—here—in these holy walls—he is mine—mine for ever!" She uttered a loud scream, and fainted. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. My father died a year ago, by the way.
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