There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. ‘That’s wicked, that is. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. ‘How do you like England?’ ‘People have been very kind,’ Valade said, answering for them both. So he bring me to see this Suzanne, who were staying at an inn nearby. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. The resemblance was amazing! And some man—he was good-looking—was in the background.
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