She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell. “Perhaps for myself I do not mind, but this man is sure to find out some day, and he will not like having been deceived. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else.
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