When Jane Clayton regained consciousness she saw Anderssen standing over her, holding the baby in his arms. As her eyes rested upon them an expression of misery and horror overspread her countenance.
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"What is the matter?" he asked. "You ban sick?"
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"Where is my baby?" she cried, ignoring his questions.
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Anderssen held out the chubby infant, but she shook her head.
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"It is not mine," she said. "You knew that it was not mine. You are a devil like the Russian."
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Chapter 12: A Black Scoundrel
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