“And you are Amy Larkin no longer—you are Amy Hilliard.”
“Yes, I’m Amy Hilliard.”—Her voice again hard and bitter.—“I must bear the hated name to my grave.”
“You are George Hilliard’s wife.”
“I am.”
Her words were scarcely audible.
“And the child?”
“Is mine.”
“And his?”
“Yes. I—am—his—wife; this—is—our—child!”