“I have spoken too many truths to-night. And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. ‘It does not matter, Jacques. You’re dealing with me now, not Gerald. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else.
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