At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. ‘And I do not know why you are so polite, when you have been bad to me last night, and have taken my dagger. "I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair.
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