He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. Unless—’ Something clicked in his mind and he stared at his friend without seeing him. If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances.
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