It was a refusal of expediency, he said, and not an absolute refusal. She could not part with dignity. "Oh, God! would you take him from me?— would you murder him?" "His father's name?—and he is free," rejoined Rowland, holding her arms. The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly. During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years.
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