"Enough!" cried Jonathan, eagerly pocketing the memorandum. “In a sense—yes. It seemed to him that speech would be an anticlimax. That he was hot and breathless was of no matter; in that moment he would have faced a dozen Samsons. The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. ‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully.
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