[The Scapegoat by Hall Caine]@TWC D-Link book
The Scapegoat

CHAPTER XXI
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But the living child--oh, it's an unending pain! You would never think how happy we were.

Her pretty ways were all my joy.

Yes, for her voice was music, and her breath was like the dawn.

Do you know, I was very fond of the little one--I was quite miserable if I lost sight of her for an hour.

And then to be wrenched away!.


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