So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. And yet he knew clearly and definitely what he purposed to do, what the future would be.
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