And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:—how was he to get rid of them? Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture. He made a movement toward her, and then recalled the circumstances of their last conversation in that study. “Anna,” he cried eagerly.
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