’ ‘And your precious vicomte didn’t wish for the English one,’ said Charvill, acid in his voice. There were shadows under his eyes. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. The resemblance was amazing! And some man—he was good-looking—was in the background. If I'd not gone mad, they would have hanged me. He saw the colossal selfishness of his act; but he could not beg off on the plea of abnormality.
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