All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. 48 <6> THE FRIDAY NIGHT SHOW The air was chill and the sky overcast and misting. "Well," growled Blueskin, "you've had my offer.
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