They can’t help seeing things in the way they do. Wood, with a message for Lady Trafford. 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. How I could have been such a fool I’ll never know. ” He stood quite silent for a moment, his eyes fixed upon her face. "And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture.
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