From what she could tell, he truly had convinced himself that he was in love with her, but she knew that his ardor would fade eventually inasmuch as she knew John’s would. Her anger died and she eyed him. When he faced Spurlock, the granite was cracked and rived; never had Spurlock seen such dumb agony in human eyes. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. " "There you're wrong, Mr. . .
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