‘Silence,’ he warned again, with a prod of the dagger at her heart. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. She hated to leave; for this hour would be the most interesting. I am sorry to seem to hurt you, but all I say is for your good.
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