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. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. Late in July he finished the fourth story. His smile faded.
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