"Ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter, beginning 'dearest Aliva,'—that's your mother's name, Thames. She saw his face change, how he regretted. You should break up with Mike if you don’t like him. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. She drew her naked arms around herself. It simply doesn’t count. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves.
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