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The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. Acknowledge your faults. “I can only repeat what I said before,” she declared. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. ” Lucy wanted badly to believe her.
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