"He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. And, without another word, he seized the table with both hands, and upset it; scattering plates, dishes, bottles, jugs, and glasses far and wide. "The natives have foolish ways of saying things. ’ He grimaced. The key's in the lock, on the inner side. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture.
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