V. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. The gallows has groaned for him for years. I know that in my heart I would take whatever he gave. My poor brain is so mixed, dear, I hardly know what I am saying. The room was reeling, or was it that she was going to faint? She recovered herself with a supreme effort. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand.
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