For a few moments he was torn between a flurry of emotions--relief, despair, and offense. Relief to know that Joan would be alright, and that apparently so would Latimer and Hutchinson, despair to think that future still remained ahead of him, and offense that he might be considered something less than 'John Smith'. Was his existence as a bit of fiction not low enough?
In the end, perhaps because the last tied in with everything else, his response was to shake his head. "No. No, I am John Smith, I'm not--not you. I may..." He rallied his dignity and confidence with a deep breath. "I may have lived an imaginary life, Doctor, but it is my own. We are nothing alike."