“Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. “But—your people!” she gasped. . ’ She waved towards a handy table to one side which was piled high with so many volumes, it looked in imminent danger of crashing to the floor. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. ’ ‘Useful certainly. The ring's yours, and you're mine.
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