“You propose, then,” she remarked, “that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. Your history, your actions, nay, your very thoughts are better known to me than to your spiritual adviser. It may not be just, it may not be fair, but things are so.
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