Explore "A Son of Ishmael" by L.T. Meade on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Nance fell on her knees by the dying man. She took one of his cold hands in hers.
"Little woman," said Rowton. "Come close to me, Nance," he continued in an almost inaudible whisper; "hold my hand tighter-I cannot feel your clasp."