My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. His orgasm was quick, spasmodic. But, urged by his wife's cries, who was more anxious for the preservation of her child's life than her own, he snatched up the infant, and made his escape from the back of the premises. Lucy felt the hairs on her neck rise. Now, I'll be getting along. I do not know if I will have to escape quickly once more. ’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease.
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