You must forgive the poet’s license I take. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. She uttered a little ejaculative note of joy and rushed to the bed. Hoddy! All her fears fell away. . At last—I told a story. I thought then perhaps you didn’t care, that you were like so many of them. There was a recurrence of fever, but nothing alarming. Softly she rose to her feet.
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