“Your name, I believe, is——” “Pellissier,” Anna answered. This he accomplished by holding the chain that connected them firmly between his teeth, and squeezing his fingers as closely together as possible, succeeded in drawing his wrists through the manacles. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. Suddenly Anna felt her hand seized and imprisoned in Courtlaw’s burning fingers. White, my landlady, believes his story. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. 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.
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