" For some reason she did not then understand, Ruth did not offer the information that Taber had another name. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. Then for a time she sat very still. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. . I walked London till the soles of my shoes were worn through, and my toes were blistered.
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