We can’t. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture. Mr. Mr. She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. It seemed to him that speech would be an anticlimax. But whenever the storm grew dangerous, either McClintock or Spurlock broke into saving laughter.
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