"He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. " Just then, the infant began to sob piteously. “Do you remember the mountains? Do you remember how we loved one another? How intensely we loved one another! Do you remember the light on things and the glory of things? I’m greedy, I’m greedy! I want children like the mountains and life like the sky. " "But I've got to go!" insisted Rollo, in perfectly understandable dog-talk. .
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