She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. “You are magnificent,” she said, “but the steel of your truth is a little oversharpened. “Of course he may merely have been telling her who we were, but I think it improbable. ’ ‘Then you’re mad,’ Roding said flatly, and suddenly grinned. "No, no, Sir," replied Ireton.
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