“We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. She had found that proof. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. His voice had broken. The great door of the Stone Hall was thrown open, and the sheriffs, preceded by the javelin-men, entered the room. She held her hand to the place where he had slapped her. It is your own choice, isn’t it?” She nodded.
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