She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. ‘So it is that you have made Jacques betray me. People spoke of him everywhere as a young man of great promise, a politician by instinct, a keen and careful judge of character. It will cost them something to repair their stronghold, and take them more time to build it up again than I have taken to pull it down.
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