They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. He had reacted by laughing at her, informing her coolly that she was naïve in many things. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. But I'll not believe it of you.
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